


The Art of Burning

by hella1975



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Cultural Differences, Earth Kingdom (Avatar), Gay Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Hakoda now has the Fire Prince as a prisoner, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It was not a good idea, Kinda, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Slowburn Adoption, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko thought taking on an entire crew of warriors would be a good idea, book 1: dadkoda and found family, book 2: zukka and the gaang, but slowburn i repeat SLOWBURN, but then, dadkoda, i wish i could give her more focus but this is a zuko fic, inspired by muffinlance's salvage, it's a hoot, just to be quirky, like a tooth-rottingly fluffy ending, like... a lot of it, may or may not make an appearance, maybe next time queen, mid-season-one, no seriously FUCK ozai, nobody is happy about this situation, okay maybe more than a lil, petition for hakoda to uppercut ozai 2021, petition to hurl general fong off the nearest tall building 2020, then it's all me in my full dumbassery, then there's zukka you love to see it, this gets a lil dark, up to like chapter 6, we just need to get through the angst first, zuko eventually joins the gaang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 252,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hella1975/pseuds/hella1975
Summary: Zuko had never excelled at anything. Azula was a prodigy. Uncle always knew what to say. And Father... Father was strong, iron-like. But Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. He knew how to do it. So when he was kidnapped by the Southern Water Tribe, he expected to fight as he always had. He didn’t expect to be taught instead how tolive.In a warring land, the Water Tribe forgave the enemy in an act of defiance, an act of kindness in a world so accustomed to blood. For this, he was torn from them, and this time, his wounds won't heal so easily.Forced back into nothing but survival, the last person Zuko expected to see was Hakoda's son. Hakoda was a promise of safety. The relentless blue of Sokka’s eyes was a promise of happiness. Zuko could have both if he just reached out his hands, but he found them clutching into fists. After all, he’d been burned one too many times.But hey, at least between Hakoda and Sokka, Zuko could appreciate the family resemblance of pure, asinine stubbornness.PODCAST AND PODFIC AVAILABLE
Relationships: Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko, Water Tribe & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10030
Kudos: 6971
Collections: A:tla, Best of Avatar: The Last Airbender, Long Zuko-centric AU's that I LIVE for (seriously i'd marry them if i could), The Best of Zuko, Zuko Being a Dumb-Dumb





	1. i. The Fire Nation Is Bountiful In Ships And Stubborn Royals

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hella1975) if u want to see me gradually go insane xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
> [podcast by boomerangsandadora, abby420 and brightlyphoenix!!](https://anchor.fm/taop1975) **
> 
> **[podfic by Ph03n1xR151ng!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956837/chapters/71054787) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm here from the future and i did in fact finally figure out how to do chapter notes (it really was NOT that difficult? past me are u okay? do u need a hug? pissbaby behaviour, your honour). Anyways the character growth of hella1975 really is a tearjerker <3\. Just would like to specify that this fic is two books under the umbrella title of The Art of Burning (hence the RIDICULOUS word count; pls don't be too intimidated by it.) To put simply:
> 
> **Book 1: chapters 1-19**
> 
> **Book 2: chapters 21-?**
> 
> PSA: some of the language Zuko uses towards the Water Tribe initially is used solely from a position of him being an unreliable narrator. He has been fed propaganda and has been indoctrinated his entire life. That is the _only_ reason for him calling them such things as 'savages' and 'barbarians', and it is only his pov that does so as that's obviously not a general opinion taken by the characters or me as a writer. Just so this is clear from the get-go. Enjoy :) xx

They were passing the Eastern Air Temple when it happened. 

The Southern Water Tribe warriors had made better time than expected, thanks to generous winds and La choosing to give them gentle waters. They had left the North Pole for Chameleon Bay only two months ago, sailing without incident around the Earth Kingdom. They got cocky. 

Then it happened. 

A Fire Nation cruiser. A big metal beast, cutting through the waves. They spotted it in time to have evaded it – their ship was smaller, faster - but the younger crewmen were restless and the senior crewmen had years of anger. Chief Hakoda made a call to stay on course and intercept the cruiser. Evidently, that had been the wrong call. 

They got away with no fatalities and a burnt but still functioning hull, but Bato, Hakoda’s Second and lifelong friend, got injured. Bad. Hakoda would never forget the strained look in their Angakkuq Kanut’s eyes as he turned to Bato’s mutilated arm. Hakoda would never forget the sound of Bato gritting his teeth to hide his agony. Hakoda would never forget the smell of burning flesh. 

Hakoda was a leader. Leaders made decisions. This was the responsibility that crushed him when those decisions turned out to be wrong, and lately, those decisions had all been wrong. Only last week, General Fong – a close ally to the Southern Water Tribe that Hakoda had spent the past year working with over their plans for Chameleon Bay – had cut ties with the Ullaakut. Fong was an excellent strategist, but he saw the Water Tribe as troglodytic. He was constantly trying to get things by Hakoda, assuming Hakoda would be too stupid to notice. Oftentimes, Hakoda feigned obliviousness simply for an easier alliance, seeing as most of their supplies came from the Earth Kingdom and starvation was worse than a kick to Hakoda’s ego, but last week, General Fong had tried to create an agreement with Hakoda. He hid it behind fancy wordplay, but Bato had translated the paperwork. If Hakoda signed, the Earth Kingdom would pull back their supplies, and in return, the Ullaakut would join their navy officially. The Water Tribe gained absolutely nothing. This was more than subtle exploitation; this was General Fong spitting in Hakoda’s face. Hakoda hadn’t stood for it. Bato tried to stop him, but he got in an argument all the same. 

Now the Ullaakut had to find her own supplies, but at least she wasn’t in some Earth Kingdom navy. 

And after what was about to happen next, it would seem Hakoda’s bad decisions just kept on coming. 

Nanook was friends with a boy from the Colonies because Nanook was friends with everybody. This friend of his had mentioned an Abbey, on the coast of the Mo Ce Sea. The nuns were the most advanced healers Nanook knew. The nuns were Bato’s only chance. 

Even though the nuns were hundreds of miles in the _wrong_ direction. 

But Bato was more than a Second to Hakoda, and that decision had been an easy one. They sailed to Chameleon Bay, then through it to the East Lake. Some of the younger crewmen had laughed here, revelling in theirs being the only ship in the entire lake. 

They soon realised why. They soon realised why the strip of rocks separating the East Lake and the West Lake was named the Serpent’s Pass. 

They almost sunk. Chena got thrown overboard more than once, oaf that he was. They barely made it out, and they were all on high alert after that. It was clear they didn’t know these waters, and it was clear these waters didn’t want them here. 

Hakoda had known they couldn’t risk sailing much further into the Colonies. Bato had known too. The two men made an agreement. No words were needed - they'd known each other too long for that – but when they stopped on a thin strip of Eastern coast along the Colonies, Bato had got off. Even though Nanook’s Abbey was a distance on foot. Even though the territory they were leaving Bato in belonged to the ashmakers. 

“I’ll see you soon, Chief.” Bato had smiled from the shore. It looked more like a grimace. “Don’t go scrapping with General Fong again.” 

“Have fun with the nuns.” Hakoda grinned back, leaning on the deck’s railings as each second put more and more water between him and his friend. 

Tomkin, the crew’s youngest member, ran to Hakoda’s side, waving with the enthusiasm of an excited Polar dog. “We’ll try not to sink before you catch up!” He called, and Bato laughed, then he winced. Hakoda couldn’t help but wince with him. He had known a lot would happen before he saw his friend again. 

He certainly hadn’t known the Prince of the Fire Nation would happen. 

____ 

Uncle kept badgering him. _Where have you been, Prince Zuko? Why is there a bruise on your face, Prince Zuko? Have you slept, Prince Zuko?_ Zuko didn’t want to answer those questions, so he found himself on the deck of his ship, the Erlong, glaring out at the water around him. Brooding. He needed to think about what happened at the Pohuai Stronghold, but every time his mind turned to the logistics of it, he became distracted. 

_Do you think we could have been friends?_ The Avatar had asked him. Him, the firebender who had actively been hunting the Avatar since the South Pole, since so much longer than that. And he’d asked in that voice. That voice that was hopeful and innocent and _twelve_. Zuko had been charged to hunt a divine being of endless power. He was still coming to terms with the fact that that divine being was a child. 

"Your Highness?” 

Lieutenant Jee had once sounded tense when he spoke to Zuko, that bitten back anger the Prince knew so well, that hatred of the Erlong’s teenage captain practically oozing from the senior Lieutenant. Lieutenant Jee had changed since last week’s storm. In fact, the entire crew had changed. They looked at Zuko different. It unsettled him. Even now, the tension from Lieutenant Jee’s voice had reduced to simple caution, his footsteps clanging annoyingly on the metal deck. 

“What?" Zuko hissed, jerking his head to the side but not turning to face the member of his crew. 

“The helmsman has spotted a ship ahead of us. A Water Tribe ship.” 

Zuko remembered the girl with the beads in her hair and grit in her blue eyes. Zuko remembered the boy with the boomerang. The Water Tribe were not his friend on a good day. But today was not a good day, and Zuko’s eyes narrowed on the miniscule spot in the distance. 

“Well,” he said, “they’re a long way from home.” 

____ 

It was a good morning. A sailor’s morning, as Hakoda's father would have once called it. The wind was strong and the sky was clear. The crew were busy doing their chores for the day, most of them bristling with the knowledge that they were so close to a Fire Nation stronghold. The locals had told them it was called Pohuai; a fortress boasting archers that could pin a fly to a tree from a hundred yards away _without killing it_. Nonetheless, the Water Tribe sailed on. Their ship, the Ullaakut, was small and alone, passing quietly through the narrow pass to the Mo Ce Sea. The Fire Nation wouldn’t even notice them. 

“The animals here are weird." Tomkin said, face scrunched up as he poked and prodded the animal lying on the deck before him. It seemed to be some sort of rabbit, except it wasn’t white like in the South Pole, and its ears were ridiculously large. Chena had spotted a cluster of the little creatures gathered right on the shore, metres from the Ullaakut. Chena, being Chena, didn’t hesitate to kill them, and now they had four dead sort-of-rabbits before them. 

“That jaw blade isn’t decorative, kid.” Hakoda said with a nod to the toothed blade by Tomkin’s crossed legs. “Get skinning.” 

“I hate skinning.” Tomkin mumbled. Bato usually took over skinning from Tomkin, knowing the youngest crewman hated the blood, but it had been a week since they left Bato at the Abbey, and as if remembering this, Tomkin did as he was told. 

“Chena,” Nanook said with wide blue eyes, halfway through skinning his own rabbit, “is there a reason my imposter-rabbit is half-decapitated?" 

Chena shrugged, cracking his big knuckles in his even bigger hands. “Critter got feisty.” Was all he offered. 

“You idiots aren’t calling them imposter-rabbits.” Kanut interjected. Hakoda was surprised the healer had joined them. He usually spent his free time with his nose in a book. 

“Oh yeah, wise guy?” Tomkin grinned. “What’s their _real_ name?” 

“Lop-eared rabbits.” Kanut flicked a strand of his white hair from his eyes with a smug smile. _Of course_ he would know their real name. “And you just pierced its bladder.” 

Tomkin cried out in horror. Sure enough, the liquid dripping on him was not what he had assumed it was. The crew burst out laughing, and even Hakoda couldn’t help but shake his head at the youngest crewman. 

That was when the wind seemed to change, and a dark shadow appeared on the horizon. 

____ 

“Prince Zuko, it is not wise to pick battles you have no need for.” Uncle Iroh said, his voice always level, but now with an undertone of uncertainty as the crew prepared for a fight. Zuko strapped on his armour, which was always too heavy on his lanky limbs. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

“The Northern Water tribe have mocked the Fire Nation for decades with their mutiny.” Zuko said with a scowl. “They are the enemy.” 

Zuko knew sinking a single Water Tribe ship wouldn’t bring his honour back, wouldn’t make Father love him. But it made him more Fire Nation, and that was a start. Zuko had always been too soft, too weak, too everything Azula wasn’t. _Do you think we could have been friends?_ Zuko would burn his own edges so the stupid Avatar would never even consider that question again. 

“Nephew,” Uncle tried again, his tone different, “the men on that ship have fathers too.” 

Zuko froze, mid-buckle of his armour. 

“And brothers and sisters and children and wives.” Uncle continued. “You do not have to be a part of this war. You do not _want_ to be a part of this war. I speak from experience when I tell you it gains you nothing and loses you everything.” 

But Zuko already had lost everything. He was a stain on his family’s name and scorned by the Fire Nation. They didn't want a Prince like him, a Prince who saw a Water Tribe ship in his father’s Colonies - _his Colonies_ \- and didn’t attack. 

Uncle placed a calloused hand to Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko barely even jumped when Uncle touched him now, but in that moment, he couldn’t help it. He'd been staring at the Water Tribe ship. It was closer now. Close enough to see the men scrambling on its deck. 

Perhaps Uncle was right. 

____ 

It was a lone ship and it was unmistakably Fire Nation. The metal hull, the smoke billowing in its wake, the unnatural speed of it as it sliced through the waters. Yep, Fire Nation. 

It was also unmistakably going to attack the Ullaakut. 

“Chena, get the tangle mines! Kanut, below deck! Aput, the armoury-!” Hakoda’s orders came out strong and without hesitation. It was times like this that the crew saw the true power of their Chief. They carried out each task he set them, over a dozen men running around one small boat. In the rush of it all, it was easy to miss Nanook ruffling Tomkin’s hair, or Chena knocking shoulders with Kanut. 

A battle was not something you got used to, and this crew had said goodbye to one another a thousand times. 

Hakoda clutched his spear tighter, glaring at the black ship before him, watching the predator lunge. 

____ 

They weren’t retreating. Zuko had slowed his advance but the Water Tribe hadn’t. They were storming forward on their path, weapons raised, even as Zuko refused each request his crew made. 

_Your Highness, shall we light the catapult?_

_No._

_Permission to arm, Sir?_

_Denied._

And Uncle had that glint in his bronze eyes. The glint he got when Zuko caved and accepted a cup of tea, the glint he got when Zuko saved the helmsman last week, the glint he got when Zuko walked away from Zhao after winning that Agni Kai. What even was that look, aside infuriating? 

It wasn’t enough to keep Zuko still, that was for sure. His finger tapped his bicep to the sporadic racing of his heart, the movement hidden by his sleeves and crossed arms. He was itching to turn and walk inside the control tower. Sparing this ship felt less like cowardice if he... ran away. 

He knew the logic was flawed, but Zuko had heard about Water Tribe warriors like the ones sailing this ship. Savages, that's what the generals back home called them. Zuko had been told stories of these strange, fur-clad men who roamed the ice that was uninhabitable to firebenders, how they hunted with weapons made of bone, how they drank the blood of their prey, how they... 

Not that Zuko was _scared._

But they were close now. Prince Zuko saw a large man, shoulders broad, back straight with the kind of pride only power could bring, staring right back at him. His hand was raised to the side, his men eagerly awaiting the fall of his arm, the order to attack. Why was he staring at him like that? It was weird, and Zuko would have felt much better in his cabin pretending to have never seen the Water Tribe ship in the first place. He decided that was the best port of call. 

Three things happened simultaneously. Prince Zuko turned with an aggressive huff to leave, the large man’s arm swung down, and Zuko realised that the staring had, in actual fact, been a stand-off. 

Zuko was such an _idiot._

____ 

“They aren’t even trying to attack.” Nanook said quietly, machete held so tight at his side that his knuckles glistened. 

“The smug bastards don’t think we’re worth their weapons.” Chena snarled, anger rippling from him like waves in the ocean. 

Hakoda was watching the Fire Nation ship intently. His crew were right; the enemy wasn’t even preparing. They were clearly soldiers with that armour and that stance, stood in line on their deck, but they held no weapons, and their single catapult sat unlit. 

And stood before them were two men. One was old, with long grey hair and a pointed beard, short and stout and listless. The second was blatantly younger, but the Ullaakut was too short for Hakoda to see fully the man’s age. All Hakoda could make out was a plume of charcoal black hair tied back with red, and an angry, marked face. By the Spirits, what even was that on his face? War paint? 

If he was the only one wearing war paint, then he was probably the captain. 

“Waiting on your call, Chief.” Chena said, turning to look to where Hakoda stood at the bow. “Tulok has a tangle mine ready.” 

But Hakoda was looking at the Fire Nation captain. He learnt his lesson by the Eastern Air Temple. Hakoda didn’t have the men to spare for unnecessary conflict. This captain was acting peculiarly. Why hadn’t he attacked yet? Why wasn’t he preparing his men? Why was he staring? 

Was he waiting for Hakoda to make the first move? 

Hakoda raised his hand in Chena’s general direction, refusing to look away from the Fire Nation captain but indicating to his crew to be ready to attack. Hakoda felt an exhausted hope within him, one that had been crushed too many times, as he watched the captain, prayed that the captain would decide not to spill blood today. 

The captain didn’t hear his prayers. He spun to his crew with too much elegance for a sailor or a solider and Hakoda didn’t give him the chance to give the kill order. Hakoda dropped his hand. The tangle mine shot into the propeller. Two worlds collided. 

And that exhausted hope was crushed once more. 

____ 

Just because Lieutenant Jee had been aboard the young Prince’s ship for three years didn’t mean he liked the stupid boy. He simply grew used to him. He knew how to weather Prince Zuko’s anger now, how to answer the demands made of him without feeling the constant urge to commit child murder. 

Because that was the thing. Prince Zuko was only a child. 

And so what if Lieutenant Jee saw him different after what General Iroh told the crew last week? So what if Prince Zuko’s scar really did look a little like a hand that never should have harmed him? Knowing the truth behind Prince Zuko’s hostility certainly hadn’t made him any nicer. His Highness had all the ferocity and defensive attitude as a tigerdillo. 

A particularly young tigerdillo... who had been through something awful... and always turned almost nice when he spoke with his Uncle... almost... endearing. 

And it was because of being aboard the young Prince’s ship for three years, and now knowing what he knew from General Iroh, that Lieutenant Jee was starting to understand Prince Zuko. This was how he knew the Prince had never intended to start the fight. 

But obviously, when it came to Prince Zuko, the fight followed him regardless, and now there were a dozen Water Tribe warriors in combat with half a dozen unprepared Fire Nation soldiers on the deck of the Erlong. Arrows fired from crossbows, swords clashed against machetes, men called to one another, blue bled into red and red stained the blue. Lieutenant Jee ducked and dodged, swinging his fist into the jaw of a much smaller man. A ball of flames erupted in Lieutenant Jee’s hand, an arrogant grin pulling his lips as he aimed at the first coat of blue he saw. 

That was when the ship groaned beneath him with enough volume to make the deck tremble. 

____ 

The Water Tribe warrior rushed Zuko, wielding a raised spear, the spike glistening white in Agni’s rays. They really did make their weapons from bones. Zuko ducked swiftly like he’d trained to, using his small size against the man’s hugeness. And this man _was_ huge. The Prince had heard about the tall, broad builds of the Water Tribe citizens, but even next to his own crew, the warrior was gigantic. His shoulders were wider than three of Zuko, his arms big enough to break necks before breaking a sweat. It was his eyes that were the most unsettling. A heartless grey, narrowed on Zuko. 

“ _Ashmaker_.” The man spat, lumbering forward and arcing his spear down to pierce Zuko’s chest. Or at least it would have pierced Zuko’s chest if he hadn’t hopped to the side, kicking the back of the warrior’s knee so that he fell to the floor, jabbing a sharp elbow into the small of his back now he was vulnerable. 

Over the man’s wheezing curses, Zuko hissed a response. " _Barbarian_." 

The man didn’t stay down. Zuko hadn’t expected him to. But Zuko could picture only his dual swords, hung in his cabin so as to appear decorative. Without them, he had only his bending to defend him against an experienced warrior twice his size. 

It would have to be enough. 

No. It would be enough. He was Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. He wasn’t going to panic because a ruffian with a spear came at him. He wasn’t going to be _weak_. 

The rage inside him burned, and in turn, so did Zuko’s hands. The warrior – who had by now staggered to his feet – gasped quietly, grey eyes widening in shock, as if he had thought Zuko was a non-bender. The surprise didn’t last, and the two clashed once more. The warrior was strong. The blows he struck weren’t painful, they were agonising. Fists bruising and, once or twice, the sharp bone of his spear slicing Zuko’s skin. But Zuko was quick. He always had been. So long as he could evade, he could turn the warrior’s size against him. He could-. 

A deafening groan slit through the battle, the metal deck rumbling beneath Zuko’s feet. Zuko wasn’t a trained sailor, but he was pretty sure that was not supposed to happen. 

“Nephew!” Uncle was calling him. He sounded worried, almost desperate. 

Zuko focussed and threw up a wall of fire between him and the big warrior, watching with satisfaction as the man jumped back a few paces. Zuko used those seconds to search the deck. His soldiers were far fewer and the sudden distress of their ship made them look to one another in a panic. _Idiots_ , Zuko thought. Showing weakness before an enemy was a death sentence. 

He watched it play out. Watched one of his youngest soldiers, a boy called Lee only a year older than Zuko, take a single step back in fear. Watched one of the warriors zone in on this fear like a shirshu picking up a scent. Watched Lee throw a clumsy ball of fire and miss. Watched the warrior hurl the sharp blade of a boomerang forward. Lee tried to evade it, stumbling back, knocking over Uncle’s pai sho table so that the tiles scattered loudly on the metal deck, but Lee was too inexperienced to dodge such a quick attack. The boomerang slit his throat, returning to the hand of the Water Tribe savage, and Lee’s body fell to the floor. 

“Daydreaming, kid?” The big warrior demanded, suddenly in Zuko’s face, oblivious to what Zuko had wasted his precious seconds staring at. 

“I’m not a kid.” Zuko hissed, affronted, but he felt sick and he could smell blood and if he wanted any credence then he needed to stop being such a baby. There was a war going on. People were bound to die. 

It's just that Zuko had never seen death quite like that before, and Lee had a wonderful voice on music nights that drifted through Zuko’s open cabin window that he definitely didn’t keep open because he liked the music, it was just hot in his cabin some nights. And alright, maybe _sometimes_ he’d pick up the stupid djembe drum Uncle had left in his room – another of his pointless purchases – and tap along the songs his mother used to show him, the beats moving perfectly through the air with Lee’s voice-. 

And now Lee was dead. 

Uncle kept calling him but Zuko knew only fire, and he attacked the warrior before him with all the hatred he harboured. 

____ 

The tangle mine had completely paralysed the propeller, and some of the Water Tribe warriors had got below deck to mess with the mechanics. The ship was going to sink. And worse still, Lieutenant Jee had just been told that Admiral Zhao’s ship was approaching. Soon, the cruel man who constantly harassed Prince Zuko, a _teenager_ , would be traversing the horizon, bearing witness to this. The Erlong was sinking and would be completely destroyed soon. The soldiers were determined but outnumbered. Even if they won the battle against the Water Tribe warriors, which they could only do if the Prince thought with more than his anger and if General Iroh overcame his sudden pacifism, then they would have no ship to claim victory aboard. 

Lieutenant Jee knew what had to happen now. 

His hands were bloody as he ran to the General, avoiding the blows firing between the two forces. General Iroh stood at the bow of the ship, an ashen circle around him. He had used only defence for this entire fight. 

Lieutenant Jee had seen first-hand the wisdom this General had grown since his failure in Ba Sing Se, and he had heard how the death of his son, Lu Ten, had broken him from something that was once esteemed to something lowly and docile. Despite these rumours and the insistence that General Iroh was a tale of falling from grace, Lieutenant Jee had always respected him. Even now, Lieutenant Jee knew there was a reason behind all of General Iroh’s actions. A convoluted one, but a reason all the same. 

“General!” Lieutenant Jee called to be heard over the cries of battle. 

“They aren’t benders.” General Iroh said, making Lieutenant Jee stop short. It was something he had noticed a few minutes ago. While the warriors fought with the savagery of their people, none of them had taken advantage of the water around them. It was the only thing making the fight semi-equal. 

Lieutenant Jee turned back to the General. “We need to-." 

“I know, Lieutenant.” General Iroh said, voice taut, his bronze eyes focussed on a single figure that made fighting look like a dance he had perfected. “We need to leave.” 

It was a difficult realisation, but they both knew it. Admiral Zhao couldn’t see them like this. Admiral Zhao couldn’t see _Prince Zuko_ like this. The Admiral wouldn’t care that the Prince was outnumbered, or that there was nothing they could do to fix the ship, or that the Prince had tried peace before those Water Tribe savages refused it. Admiral Zhao would care only that the Prince had failed. He would revel in it. 

Lieutenant Jee gave the order for the men to start falling back, an order he gave only with the confidence of General Iroh backing him, because he knew the Prince would bite his head off for that one. The soldiers’ relief was blatant as they staggered back, exhausted. By now, the Erlong’s deterioration was all anyone could hear. Lieutenant Jee couldn’t even hear his own yells over the complaining metal. 

But he could see. 

He could see General Iroh calling to his nephew. He could see the Prince first ignore him, then refuse him. He could see Prince Zuko keep going even as his soldiers abandoned ship. He could see that Prince Zuko wouldn’t stop fighting if it killed him. He could see that General Iroh knew it _would_ kill him, and wouldn’t allow it. 

“Zuko!” General Iroh yelled again as a particularly large Water Tribe warrior propelled his fist into the young Prince’s ribs. Prince Zuko stumbled back a pace, cradling his small torso, but only fought back with more malice. 

_Surrender_ was not a word in his dictionary. 

____ 

Zuko was a terrible liar. He always had been. Azula had been able to weave words together like poetry ever since she was little, but whenever Zuko tried, he’d fidget, or blush, or just panic so much he’d turn rigid and stop talking altogether. 

He lied to Father once. Only once. He'd been eight at the time, trying to practice a form that Azula had of course already perfected. He knocked a vase, an antique, and watched it shatter on the marble. That had been Grandfather Azulon’s vase. When Father had asked in that icy tone who had done it, Zuko tried to blame one of the servants. So, Father had the servant dragged before him, crying and begging for a mercy he didn’t even know the name of. Zuko broke as quick as the vase, admitting through sobs that he had done it and that he was sorry. Father wasn’t pleased. Zuko could still remember that servant’s scream of agony as Father set fire to the poor man’s hands. Zuko could remember lunging to try and help, his mother wrapping him tightly in her arms and pressing his face to her shoulder where he couldn’t see the horror he had inflicted. _This is what happens when you lie,_ Father had said. Mother led Zuko to his room and he held it together until it was just them, then he threw up and cried in her arms until morning. 

Prince Zuko couldn’t lie, but he _could_ exploit his Uncle’s faith. If he didn’t, Uncle would never leave. The ship was sinking, the men were outnumbered, and Zhao was coming. Zuko wouldn't damn his crew for the sake of his pride, only himself. 

“Please, Prince Zuko. As a leader, you must take the path of wisdom, not glory.” Uncle begged, gaze flicking between the crew that had made it safely to the green grass of the nearby land, and Zuko, who had managed to get to his Uncle’s side before that Water Tribe brute caved his head in. They only had a minute before the warriors would be on them again. He only had a minute to choose. 

“Okay.” Zuko said, and Uncle’s eyes widened in surprise. That had been... too easy. Much, much too easy. But Zuko knew Uncle was too desperate to get away to think hard on Zuko’s actions, so Uncle nodded sternly, before descending the Erlong’s trembling ladder. Lieutenant Jee was there to help the old General. Zuko watched until he was sure his uncle was safe, before nodding to Lieutenant Jee. The man’s eyes widened, before understanding took over and he nodded back. He would take care of Uncle Iroh. 

Zuko pulled up the ladder. 

“No!” Uncle cried, realising that Zuko had never intended to go with him. Prince Zuko dashed away from the rail, because the horror in his Uncle’s bronze eyes made him feel as heartbroken as when he was eight. 

In his mind, he still saw his dual swords. He wasn't going anywhere without them. 

____ 

The men had begun to celebrate, throwing tired grins to one another, slapping hands to shoulders. It was less victory and more relief. Hakoda watched the Fire Nation soldiers hop their ship’s rail one by one, the spear in his hand suddenly a lot lighter. 

“Shall we chase them?” Chena suggested. He was bleeding, his lip split and entire left side burnt. It wasn’t a serious burn, but it was big. 

Hakoda thought a moment. If they chased them, they could kill them. Ridding the world of even a handful of Fire Nation soldiers was a justice in itself, and some of these were firebenders. But despite the Ullaakut’s crew having more men, the Fire Nation had done a lot of damage. Hakoda needed to tend to his wounded. He needed to make sure no one had sabotaged his ship. He needed to check he hadn’t lost anyone. 

“No. Get Kanut.” Hakoda said, and Chena nodded before stomping off. 

“Wait.” Tulok said, raising his bloody boomerang suddenly, jerking his chin towards the rail. Hakoda snapped his attention to what his crewman had spotted, his stomach knotting when he saw a young soldier take a symbolic step away from the rail. _Towards_ them. 

This was the captain. Or at least, Hakoda had thought this was the captain from the low deck of the Ullaakut. He knew now that he was looking at a boy, a kid. And the mark on his face was not war paint, but in fact a burn, raging over his left eye and turning every expression into a scowl, though Hakoda had a feeling most of this boy’s expressions were scowls anyway. 

“Back for more?” Chena was grinning, but it was the grin he pulled when he was about to hit something, his grey eyes on this boy and this boy alone. They must have fought during the melee – the anger on Chena’s large form just _screamed_ personal – but Hakoda found it unlikely that this soldier had been the one to burn Chena. It wasn’t that he probably wasn’t a bender, given that scar, but just the fact that he was so... small. He didn’t have nearly enough bruises to have taken on Chena. 

“Come on, boy. I want to see what they teach children in the Fire Nation.” Chena goaded further, taking a step forward. They needed to leave soon. The Fire Nation ship had gone eerily quiet, which was never good news. Hypothermia patients always went quiet before they died. Hakoda didn’t want to be here when the ship’s mechanics gave in entirely. 

The Water Tribe warriors had found their back to the ship’s control tower, and Hakoda noticed something that Chena didn’t. The soldier was looking at the door they were unknowingly guarding, not them. 

There was something here that he wanted. 

“Keep talking and you might just get a lesson.” The boy said, voice a rasp like rocks against a ship’s hull. 

“Chena,” Nanook said weakly, being held up by Tomkin thanks to a gruesome burn on his chest that had singed entirely through his shirt, blood staining the blue, “he’s just a teenager.” 

“So is Tomkin.” Aput said. “Do you think if that was Tomkin and we were Fire Nation, they would spare him?” 

They all knew the answer, and even the thought of Tomkin in such a position made Hakoda’s fist clench at his side. Tomkin swallowed nervously, looking to his Chief. One by one, the others did the same. Hakoda knew they would have to kill this boy. Hakoda didn’t even feel much remorse. They gave the soldiers every opportunity to flee. This one decided he wanted to fight. 

A lot like Sokka. In fact, this boy was around Sokka’s age... 

_No._ This boy was Fire Nation. 

Hakoda worked his jaw, looking to Chena. He nodded once and Chena’s grin grew as he picked up a machete from the floor. 

____ 

The machete fit the warrior’s big hand like it had been fashioned for it, the blade sharp and ready to snatch Zuko’s life. This... had been a very bad idea. The Water Tribe warriors weren’t supposed to be in his way. He was supposed to be able to get into the tower, grab his dual swords, and then... 

And then what? Just like Uncle always said, he hadn’t thought this through. 

So Prince Zuko would do what he had always done. Prince Zuko would fight. 

“Come on, little arnaq.” The big warrior taunted. Zuko didn’t know what an arnaq was, but by the way the warrior said it and the way another of the men scoffed, he could tell it was an insult. Prince Zuko felt the rage within him sear its confines, his chi unsettled, but he kept it in check. _Just a little longer_. The big warrior took another step forward. _Just a tiny bit more_... 

One more oblivious step, then Zuko lunged, and fire exploded on the deck. 

The Water Tribe warriors who had opted to let Zuko and their biggest warrior fight this out jumped in shock. Zuko had noticed that none of this crew were waterbenders – though why the Northern Water Tribe wanted a crew of non-benders sailing alone was beyond him – but that didn’t mean Zuko wasn’t sick of people assuming _he_ was a non-bender. He let this add to the rest of his frustrations, kicking out at the big warrior with the moves Uncle taught him, fire shooting from his feet. The big warrior rolled just in time, and a second explosion of fire saw the other warriors move to avoid it. The door to the control tower was clear. Zuko could see it. Zuko could do this. 

The machete swung down. Zuko grabbed the warrior’s arm. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to stop the blow, so instead he pushed it away, the man’s heavy weight tumbling with him as Zuko shoved him with all the muscle he had. But the warrior was getting attuned to the way Zuko fought. He'd expected something like this, and instead of falling, he rolled, standing behind Zuko and slicing his machete down Zuko’s back. The pain was white hot, like Zuko's own bending gone wrong, like looking up at Father and seeing only fire. Blood began to spread through the linen of Zuko’s shirt, dripping between his shoulder blades. It was a big cut, deep, and if left much longer, fatal. 

Prince Zuko spun to face his opponent, the agony of having his back turned now all too literal. The big warrior looked smug, but he was panting slightly. Zuko’s quick movements were tiring him. They were both on a time limit. The warrior, too big to continue at this pace. Zuko, too injured to keep fighting. The rest of the Water Tribe had moved even more. The door was almost comically clear. 

Zuko moved too slow. He lunged towards the door, missing the muscled arm swooping down. His momentum surged forwards but it was snatched back just as quickly, the big warrior’s arm wrapping around his waist, throwing Zuko to the ground. The metal deck slammed against the cut on Zuko’s back and he was too winded to even scream out the pain that filled every nerve of his body. Instead, he coughed, spluttering, desperately trying to take the weight off his wound, his entire body freezing up for a moment. His fire wasn’t coming. The Water Tribe were. 

He managed to push onto his chest, stubbornness overcoming his pain. He had faced worse. He needed to suck it up and get on with it. 

Zuko tried to crawl towards the door, the pai sho tiles pricking his palms. Distantly, he saw the white lotus tile staring at him. Uncle's favourite tile. Zuko grabbed it in his bloody hand, forcing himself to keep crawling. His world seemed to stop and start with those dual swords. But he knew they were a pipe dream, a falsehood of safety. He couldn’t win this fight. He was going to die here. And he definitely wasn’t _scared_ , because he wasn’t weak, but he thought of Uncle’s anguish, the taste of jasmine tea. He thought of his father. He would never make him proud now. 

The big warrior loomed over him, kicking Zuko onto his back again and missing how Zuko hissed in a breath at this fact, one knee to the metal deck, one knee pressing against Zuko’s chest, pushing his cut harder to the Erlong. The man was just so _heavy_. He wrapped two big hands around Zuko’s neck and suddenly Zuko couldn’t breathe, and he clawed at the man and tried to kick him away but it was no good. 

“Stupid brat.” The man hissed. “Stupid Fire Nation. Stupid _kid_.” 

And the fire returned. Because Zuko wasn’t a stupid kid. He would prove he wasn’t. He would make Father proud. He would make his nation proud. He would fight. Until the last beat of his heart, he would fight. 

With the blood of his cut lip making his mouth taste metallic, Prince Zuko used the last of his energy to spit in the warrior’s face. The man yelled in disgust, his hands loosening enough for Zuko to suck in a breath. 

“I’m not a kid.” Zuko snarled through grit teeth, each word like knives up his throat as he glared at the man on top of him. 

“I am Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. Son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, heir to the throne." 

____ 

The Chief went quiet when the kid said that. All of them did, actually. Even Chena found himself hesitating, hands still wrapped around the little critter’s neck but releasing any pressure he’d previously applied. The skin beneath his fingers was _royal_ , was the _spawn of the Fire Lord_. If Chena didn’t want this brat dead before, he certainly did now. He wanted to crush his ribs beneath his knee, or leave him to bleed out on his own ship, or choke the life from him, or throw him overboard. Drowning would be a fitting death bestowed from a Water Tribe warrior, especially when it was bestowed upon the Fire Nation’s Prince. 

“Chena, get him up.” Hakoda ordered, and Chena felt confusion fill him, but he trusted his Chief with his life and didn’t hesitate to yank the Prince to his feet. The boy was a little shaky, and the puddle of blood he left behind said why. He barely came to Chena's elbow, but he glared with the ferocity of someone twice the height. Spoilt brat. 

Hakoda walked to stand before the Prince, his blue eyes relentless. That was the thing about Hakoda. Chena had his muscle, Bato had his wit, but none of them had an inescapable aura quite like Hakoda’s. Even the Prince could feel it. It was the slightest reaction, but having yanked the little royal to his side, hand still firmly wrapped around his arm to keep him there, Chena could feel the sudden rigidness that overcame the teenager. 

Hakoda grabbed the kid’s chin, turning his face to eye up his scar. It was a nasty burn. Probably did it to himself in his own arrogance. 

The Prince flinched and for a moment didn’t think to pull away, before remembering that option and yanking himself back. Chena tightened his grip in warning. 

“Do it, coward.” The Prince snarled, blood dripping down his chin as his gold eyes flicked to Hakoda’s spear. Spirits, those eyes were gold. “Kill me.” 

Hakoda had his thinking face on. As if to rush him, the ship groaned. It had been quiet for some time now; that couldn’t be good. They didn’t have time. Chena could end this Prince now and then they could all hop back on the Ullaakut and be done with this. 

“Chief,” Tomkin started, now holding Nanook up with Tulok’s help after the warrior’s injuries caused him to pass out, “are we even able to kill him? I mean, if the Fire Lord comes after us because we killed his son-.” 

“We can hardly _keep_ him.” Aput argued. That was true. The Ullaakut was a boat for fighting and hunting, not keeping prisoners, and especially not prisoners who could produce fire at will. 

“No,” Hakoda said gruffly, and everyone silenced, “but General Fong can.” 

____ 

Prince Zuko wanted to say something, anything. But he had the worst migraine, and the metal deck was beginning to tilt, and he was starting to be a little grateful for how tight that brute of a warrior held him. And then that man stepped forward. That man who grabbed his face like he was some animal in a cage. That man with the recognisable build and same pride in his spine. Except this man’s eyes weren’t gold. They were blue. Blue, and icy as the ocean. The likeness to the vast water around them made Zuko’s throat burn. Drowning was suddenly so appealing, if it got Zuko away from _him_. 

Something about the Earth Kingdom was said, and then Zuko was being dragged from the Erlong. He didn’t like this. The Earth Kingdom crushed firebenders’ hands. But he was too weak and it took all of his energy just to stay standing. He refused to collapse in front of these savages. 

____ 

Hakoda was making a political move, which was all well and good, except Hakoda wasn’t political. He didn’t know how to barter with General Fong and he certainly didn’t know how to negotiate with the Fire Lord, but he also didn’t know how to keep a firebender prisoner on a wooden ship. He wanted to kill this boy, this Prince. 

But he had been presented with an opportunity. General Fong was powerful enough and clever enough to correspond with the Fire Lord. With the Prince as his hostage, General Fong could ask the man of anything. In the time before Hakoda let his temper control him, General Fong had made sure there was supplies for the Ullaakut to restock at every Earth Kingdom port. Without those supplies, Hakoda would have to cut into the ship’s own finances, which were very, very limited. Whether he liked it or not, General Fong was an ally Hakoda needed back desperately. 

And this kid might just be the solution. 

Chena took the stubborn Prince with him, Hakoda close behind and a wide-eyed Kanut emerging from the infirmary. Hakoda sent the crew away with the order of raiding the Fire Nation ship for supplies – preferably _before_ it sank or, worse, exploded. Many were wounded, but the only serious injuries were Nanook’s and the damage Chena and Prince Zuko did to one another. Nanook's burn wasn’t nearly as bad as the Prince’s slashed back and bruised neck, yet Nanook was the one who had to be carried to Kanut. 

“We should throw him to the dolphin-piranhas.” Chena grumbled. 

Kanut, who still looked decidedly like a man who had no idea why there was a Fire Nation teenager being marched to his infirmary, didn’t hesitate to respond. "They don’t even have dolphin-piranhas this far north, dumbass." 

Chena on the Prince’s arm seemed only decorative; he walked forward like the blood dripping from him wasn’t a problem. Hakoda was concerned, wondering if Fire Nation royals simply didn’t _feel_ pain. His concern was short-lived, because as soon as they were below deck away from view, the Prince of the Fire Nation promptly collapsed. 

_Spirits_ , Hakoda thought, _give me strength_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> future me again because past me just started this fic so messily and thought that was okay. it wasn't. stupid bitch <3\. Just a little note to say that this fic was originally me writing my own little version of salvage in a VERY self-indulgent way, and then it got out of hand (clearly), so the first few chapters are very akin to MuffinLance's wonderful work, but by chapter 6 that goes away. That might be good news for you or bad news for you, but just a heads up <3
> 
> ALSO quick psa: the time frame for this sees Bato Of The Water Tribe happen BEFORE The Blue Spirit, for convenience <3


	2. i. The Deck Is NOT A Barbeque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> umm?? why are you guys so nice?? i literally expected maybe two people to enjoy this and i wake up to see over SIX HUNDRED hits?!? i'm fine this is fine. thank you so much for your comments <33

“He going to be okay?” 

Hakoda had asked a simple question, but Kanut still hesitated far too long for his liking. Kanut had the expression of a man much put upon, after being up into the night treating Nanook’s and Chena’s semi-serious injuries, and of course spending most of his time keeping the Prince from death. The Angakkuq now looked exhausted, hands stained red despite having washed them twice. 

“I don’t know, Chief.” Kanut’s tone was grim, which was strange, because Kanut was very good at staying impartial when it came to patients. It was why he was such a good healer; the Angakkuq, as they called them back home in the Southern Water Tribe. “He lost a lot of blood, and there’s still a chance of infection.” 

The topic of their conversation stirred slightly. Kanut’s box infirmary was one of the biggest rooms on the Ullaakut, but still small when considered generally. The wooden walls were lined with shelves, two thin beds pushed into the corners, and then a third – a bunk for Kanut – wedged into the far wall. The rest of the space was taken up by a table, stacked with books, and an oil lamp hanging above the door. This door was the only door in the ship with an industrial lock. It was expensive, but Kanut was their healer. If he died, so did a dozen others. They couldn’t risk a soldier getting in here. 

And there was the Prince of the Fire Nation, currently lying in one of the beds, facedown, surrounded by bloodstained white sheets. They'd managed to peel off his heavy armour, then his sodden linen shirt, revealing a torso too toned, too scarred, to be the body of a teenager. Then there was the cut itself. Kanut said it wasn’t just a cut, that it was too big for that. This was a _laceration_. The skin from his left hip to the base of his neck had been completely sliced by Chena’s machete. _At least it’s clean_ , Kanut had tried, but him and Hakoda both saw the same thing. A child, with deathly pale skin either from the wound or his Fire Nation heritage, lying in his own blood, trembling with the little energy he had left. If it weren’t for the shallow gasps he took, he’d look dead. 

Kanut had sutured the cut now. The Prince had passed out on his own when they first brought him here, and Kanut had said it was more likely to be from pain than blood loss, though how the kid kept that behind a stiff upper lip, Hakoda didn’t know. They kept the Prince’s self-induced unconsciousness with the little anaesthetic they had left. They'd get more when General Fong restored their alliance. Now, all Kanut had left to do, and he did the task with practised patience, was bandage the wound. The last time he’d bandaged a wound like this, covering such a large area, was with Bato. 

“What’s your plan?” Kanut asked, calloused hands gently lifting the boy as he wrapped another strip of bandage around him. Kanut was a rough looking man. Not rough like Chena, who was rough looking because of his massiveness, but rough because he simply looked _seafaring_. His beard was rough, his white haircut was rough, his voice was rough, and his clothes were always a little shabby. 

“I’ll write to General Fong. I know he’ll jump at the opportunity. It’s just a matter of him meeting us as soon as possible.” Hakoda said, but the words made him want to bash his head against a wall. 

They were on a wooden ship with a _firebender_. They had a single pair of metal handcuffs which Chena had gone to fetch, and their only room with a good enough lock to keep a prisoner was also wooden. Hakoda had contemplated just keeping the Prince’s hands unavailable with the cuffs and leaving it at that, because that would work with a water or earthbender, but he was pretty sure he remembered fire coming from the Prince’s _feet_ back on that ship. Firebenders could produce the flames they wielded, which was a much different calibre than what Hakoda could even attempt to deal with. 

Chena barged back in. Chena never actually meant to _barge_ anywhere, it was just how he walked. He was shirtless to let his burn air, a salve applied along with a berating from Kanut - ‘ _I mean, why would you start a fight with a teenager anyway?_ ’ - and in his hands dangled a pair of metal handcuffs. They weren’t normal cuffs; they covered the entire hand. They would have to be enough. 

“Will it work?” Nanook asked weakly from the other bed, still coming to. 

“I reckon it will.” Kanut said. “After a scrap like that and the recovery needed for that injury, he’ll be too exhausted to fight us.” 

Hakoda hoped he was right. 

“Still not too late to throw him in the sea.” Chena reminded Hakoda, and Hakoda allowed a small laugh, because if all else failed, that was his plan. 

____ 

The Erlong was rocking too much, and whenever Zuko found the strength to crack his eyes open, his surroundings were brown, not grey, and Uncle sounded different, sounded rough, and everything hurt, everything was wrong, and Zuko didn’t know what was going on, and he knew he should be figuring out what was going on, but he was so tired and he was scared and all he knew was that _he didn’t like this._

Zuko moved slightly. He'd only been trying to see where he was, his head banging with every beat of his heart, but the little movement jostled everything in him. His back had been throbbing with a constant hum of pain, but now it screamed in agony, and it happened too quick for Zuko to bite back his growl of pain. 

“He’s awake.” A voice Zuko didn’t know said. “Chena, ready with those cuffs.” 

This was not the Erlong. 

“Prince Zuko?” A different voice said, kneeling beside him. A scratchy beard brushed Zuko’s hand. 

“Uncle?” 

A third voice, a more familiar one – though Zuko couldn’t pinpoint _how_ it was familiar-, chuckled. “Ah, great Kanut. Dragon of the West.” 

“Ba Sing Se trembles before you.” This voice came from Zuko’s right, and he could just blink away the spinning room enough to see that there was a bed there, a man lying in it. 

"Nanook, if you’re strong enough to be cracking jokes, you’re strong enough to get out of my infirmary." Uncle said, tone half berating, half affectionate. Zuko knew that tone well, but that didn’t explain what on Agni a Nanook was. 

Zuko needed to get away from here, get away from these strange men. He needed to find the Erlong. But his muscles didn’t want to move, and he couldn’t be in danger, because Uncle was here. Would it really be so bad if he just... rested? Just for a little bit? 

“Prince Zuko, how do you feel?” Uncle asked. 

Zuko wanted to say bad, very bad, but he wasn’t weak and besides, he didn’t want to make Uncle worry, so instead, he said; “Fine. I'm fine.” His words came out hoarse and he couldn’t open his eyes. “I’m sorry about Lee." 

There was silence, and Zuko took that to mean that Uncle was upset with him. Or maybe he passed out again. Everything else was foggy, but Zuko’s memory of Lee falling back on the pai sho table, neck split, was vivid enough to make him shake. 

_The pai sho table._

Zuko hissed in a pained breath as he moved, squinting his eyes to see better as he cracked open his hand that dangled over the bed. There, held so tight it had indented his palm, the smooth surface splattered with blood, was the white lotus tile. 

Zuko traced the pattern with a trembling thumb. _Most people think the lotus tile insignificant_. Uncle had been so calm, telling Zuko he’d changed their course away from the Avatar just to pick up a stupid tile. _I'm lucky to have such an understanding nephew._

The Avatar. How far had the kid got while Zuko had been pathetically lying here? How much distance had Zuko lost because of his weakness? 

He needed to move. 

____ 

“Prince Zuko-!” Kanut started in surprise when the Prince began to struggle, sitting up and blatantly gritting his teeth. He'd stirred not long ago before passing out again at the mention of someone called Lee. He would be in agony regardless of him trying to move, so what was he _doing?_ With him sat up like that, Hakoda could see the dark purple and black bruises on the boy’s neck, the imprint of two big hands, a necklace of violence. Fire Nation or not, Hakoda struggled to look at it. 

“I need... I need to..." The Prince sounded delirious as he tentatively swung his legs over the side of the bed, speaking with the sort of rasp you get after a fully grown warrior strangles you, and then a darker tone you get when you’re trying to hide that you’re absolutely _terrified_. The Prince's gold eyes kept fixing in and out of focus. Hakoda had seen dozens of Fire Nation soldiers in the two years since he left the South Pole, and still, he’d never seen gold eyes like this, like the heart of a fire, like liquid sunlight, like _death._

Kanut was there before Prince Zuko could stand, pushing him by his shoulders. 

“You need to rest before you tear the stitches I spent quarter-sun on, you little brat.” Kanut said. The Prince was too weak to fight Kanut as he pushed him against the pillow, unhappy that Prince Zuko was on his back, on his _injury_ , but satisfied that this was the most he’d get out of the uncooperative royal. 

“You said he’d be too tired to fight us.” Hakoda reminded the healer, stood in the doorway as a precaution, though he knew it would be impossible for the Prince to get that far in the condition he was in. Hakoda had sent Chena away, not liking how convincing his throw-the-heir-to-the-throne-into-the-ocean argument was, and Nanook was now sat up in his bed, wincing a little as he sipped his sea squid soup. Tomkin had brought him that, both because he knew it was his friend’s favourite and because he wanted to peek at the Fire Prince. 

“He _is_. Should be.” 

Hakoda didn’t like how Kanut corrected himself. He liked even less that, when Kanut turned away from the Prince, the boy promptly jabbed a sharp elbow into the healer’s ribs. Kanut yelled in surprise and Prince Zuko was on his feet again, grabbing the bowl of soup in Nanook’s hands and throwing it... _at Hakoda_. 

The scene was so shocking that Hakoda barely had time to duck, the liquid splashing up his side and drenching through his thick furs. It was only a second later that he realised the Prince had intended for him to duck as he did, and used the opening to dash out of the infirmary. This child was on death’s door and he was _astute_. 

If he survived, the Prince of the Fire Nation would be a nightmare. 

____ 

Chena was up on deck, bragging. Chena was very good at bragging. 

“Caught the little shit myself.” He boasted, Tomkin staring up at him with wide, impressed eyes. “Gone from hunting puffin-seals to hunting royals.” Chena grinned, toasting his goblet of rum – half drank and the other half spilt down him – to the moon that shone above them. Chena of course missed out the part of his victory where he got two broken ribs and his torso almost singed off, inflicted by a teenager half his size. 

“We were there, Chena." Aput, another of the older crewmen, reminded him, knocking shoulders with Tulok and taking a swig of his own rum. 

“Their ship was weird.” Tomkin said. 

“I'm starting to think you call everything weird, Little Tom.” Tulok smirked, sharpening the blade of his boomerang. Tomkin had hated that nickname when they first started calling it him, probably because they only ever called it him when they wanted to bug the youngest crewman, but two years at sea together had seen the nickname become affectionate. 

“I got some cool stuff though.” Tomkin grinned, before brandishing two broadswords. They were elegant things. Chena had worked with enough weapons to know these were the real deal. Expensive. 

“What happened to _necessities only_?” Tulok asked with a judging eyebrow, making Tomkin pull a face like he was very hard done by. 

“They’re _weapons_ , Tulok. That's necessary." He said adamantly. 

“And the tsungi horn?” Tulok asked, nodding to the instrument that Tomkin promptly tried to hide behind him. 

“And the monkey statue?” Aput asked. 

“And the drum?” Chena snickered. 

“Okay!” Tomkin called, gathering his newly acquired belongings in his arms. “Just because I have a keen eye and you three pricks don’t.” 

Tomkin's plan had been to stomp to the berth deck, broadswords, tsungi horn, monkey statue and drum in hand, but that plan was very quickly foiled when a dark shadow burst onto the deck, running straight into Tomkin. 

“That piece of-.” Chena cut his own rage off by springing forward, identifying the Prince – apparently his now sworn enemy - before the other crewmen even had a chance to see the small boy. 

The Prince moved just as quickly as Chena, which was impressive, because even from the other side of the deck, Chena could see the bandages wrapped tightly around him. Chena had inflicted that wound. He knew the damage it had done. The Prince should be struggling to even _stand_ , let alone shove Tomkin off him and hop to his feet with slightly wobbly precision. 

Tomkin scrambled back, terrified of the solider, but Chena, Aput and Tulok cautiously prowled forwards. 

____ 

Zuko didn’t like how tight the bandages were around his chest, and he certainly didn’t like how every movement he made was pure agony. But he liked even worse the gradual resurgence of his memories. He remembered the Water Tribe savages discussing him as they walked him to the infirmary, voices carrying above his head because they were all so huge. _General Fong will be desperate to have him. The Earth Kingdom know how to keep firebenders._

Zuko remembered heading in the direction of Ba Sing Se, desperately trying to find his Uncle. Those Earthbenders had been about to crush Uncle’s hands with rocks. What would they do to Zuko? 

Zuko needed to be off this ship before this General Fong came for him. 

He burst onto the deck, the moonlight igniting the ship, and immediately hit something hard, tumbling to the side. Everything was just so... wooden. And Zuko was pretty sure it had been daytime when he was kidnapped, but now it was night, and the only measure of time he’d been given was however long a _quarter-sun_ was. And there was no land anywhere. Just ocean and ocean and ocean. 

And Uncle hadn’t been Uncle. 

Zuko was alone. 

Always, always alone. 

“I surrender!” A boy a little older than Zuko cried, scrambling on the floor a metre from him. He was skinny, with dark brown hair pulled back into a strange ponytail, his skin tanned and eyes blue like a spring sky. He held his hands up as if Zuko had challenged him, staring at him in terror. All Zuko had done was run into him. 

But then Zuko’s gaze slid to something that had fallen in their collision. The blades glinted beneath the stars, handles turned towards him almost as an invitation, their curve something Zuko could trace in his sleep. He had been training to use the dual swords since he was young, spending hours with Master Piandao in the training yard, sparring until his palms blistered, preparing for the day Father said he’d come to watch. He never came. Of course he didn’t. He was so busy. Zuko wasn’t even that good. 

“Are those my swords?” Zuko hissed, disbelieving and angry. These troglodytes had kidnapped him, and now they had stolen from him too. What else had they taken? 

The boy’s eyes widened. “No... Yes... Maybe... I didn’t-.” 

Prince Zuko lunged with a pained growl, the other boy flinching, but instead of striking him, Zuko scooped up his swords. Three older men were approaching now. The one who murdered Lee, the big warrior, and a third Zuko didn’t know. Behind Zuko, the echoing thud of someone running upstairs filled the night. The healer who was not Uncle, or the other one, the Chief. 

Zuko remembered the Chief’s icy eyes. Zuko had thrown _soup_ at him. If he caught him, everything was over. 

“Come on, Your Majesty." The big warrior’s voice was too nightmarish for Zuko to correct the use of title. “Didn’t the Fire Lord ever teach you not to play with sharp things?” 

He thought Zuko couldn’t use the dual blades. Zuko would feel smug in his own talents normally, but right now, he saw four swords, not two, and he knew damn well the ship wasn’t swaying _that_ much. He felt sick. The infirmary had been so warm... 

The Chief. The Earth Kingdom. The Avatar. Three reasons why he had to _move._

The big warrior lunged and Zuko twisted, a move usually so elegant becoming just shy of tumbling out of the way. Lee’s killer swooped from behind Zuko, catching him off guard and grabbing him by the waist, knocking his swords from his grip. Zuko watched them clatter to the floor, all of his hope falling with them. 

The sudden pressure on Zuko’s back made him feel like he was on fire - a feeling he hadn’t been eager to remember – and he kicked out in a panic as the bigger man lifted him from the floor. The man hadn’t anticipated such a violent reaction, and Zuko’s elbow found his nose, breaking it and making the man drop him heavily. 

“Hold him still!” The Chief ordered, voice a snarl of command, another thing Zuko hadn’t been eager to remember. And they were going to catch him because he was too weak, too small, too stupid, and there were so many of them, and he was in so much _pain_. And when the Chief got him, what would he do to him? 

The man who killed Lee and the big warrior grabbed each of Zuko’s arms, yanking him to his feet and holding him roughly before the Chief. Zuko was panting, either from fear or exertion. 

He couldn’t get away now. 

This wasn’t Father. This wasn’t Father. This wasn’t-. 

Zuko tried to calm himself but it was no good. He wouldn't survive a second time. 

The fire was in his hands a moment later, the two warriors leaping away from him as Zuko arced it around him, the flames jumping. They shouldn’t be jumping. Zuko's control was shaking. Everything was shaking. He pushed out one last ring of fire. He wasn’t even trying to hurt anyone. He just wanted them _away._

The warriors left a safe distance around Zuko and his energy finally burned completely. Even his pride couldn’t keep him on his feet, and he fell to his knees, fire extinguishing. 

He'd been here before. 

____ 

“I’ll get the cuffs.” Chena said gruffly, but Hakoda held his hand up, a clear gesture; _wait._

Hakoda was watching the Prince. The Prince who had just displayed what to Hakoda was an impressive feat of bending, the Prince who evaded him and the rest of his warriors for a decent amount of time while injured and semi-conscious, the Prince who had to be held by two of Hakoda’s strongest men and still struggled. And now, the Prince was on his knees, shoulders heaving in each breath, blood beginning to stain the fresh bandages. He'd torn his stitches. Kanut wouldn’t be happy. 

But Hakoda had seen something. Right before the Prince threw fire at them, there had been a glint in his gold eyes, and for a moment, there was no anger, no violence, no determination. Just pure, stomach-churning terror. And in that moment, the Prince was suddenly just a scared boy, being held in place by two men he didn’t know who openly wanted to hurt him. 

It shouldn’t have changed anything. This boy was still Fire Nation, still royal. But somehow, Hakoda could only see Sokka’s blue eyes, and it changed _everything_. 

“No cuffs.” Hakoda said. “Let’s see if we can’t find some common ground first.” 

Hakoda took a quiet breath, ensuring his own temper stayed in check because he gained nothing from scaring the little brat more, before walking forward. Hakoda loomed over the kneeling teenager, and he swore he could hear the kid muttering something. No cursing, no threatening. He sounded almost like he was... praying. 

The kid was expecting something very specific, because when Hakoda moved, his entire body flinched, but Hakoda had only crouched to be more level with him. 

“No more firebending.” Hakoda said simply. 

The boy looked up far too slowly to only be expecting a crouching Chief, his gold eyes blinking in surprise. 

“What?” He finally asked. 

“No. More. Firebending.” Hakoda repeated, a little sterner. If the Prince was going to be difficult, then he’d be met with difficulty. “This is a wooden ship. If you firebend again, we’ll chain you up. If you firebend again after that, I'll assume you’re a danger to my crew and will be forced to throw you overboard.” 

Chena cracked his knuckles at that, and the Prince’s eyes widened. Or at least his right eye did. His scarred eye seemed damned to be constantly narrowed. 

“You’re all savages. You can’t-.” 

“I can, Prince Zuko.” Hakoda’s anger was pushing its restraints. “And I will, but only if you force my hand. Understood?” 

The Prince was yet to look Hakoda in the eye. He looked everywhere else; at the other crewmen, at the ocean, at the floor. Never at Hakoda. Now, his gaze fell to his hands, that had only just been ignited in fire. Hakoda knew not to expect the Prince’s palms to be blistered, but it was still shocking to see. How could they just _hold fire_ and not get burnt? 

But then how had Katara been able to pull water into the air? Or freeze Sokka’s drinks when they bickered? 

He was taking too long to answer. Hakoda grabbed the Prince’s chin and forced him to look at him. He didn’t miss the gasp the Prince took, even as he scowled right back at Hakoda. 

“ _Do you understand?”_ Hakoda asked. 

The Prince looked close to passing out and snarling simultaneously, his voice both weak and poisonous. “ _I understand_.” 

____ 

Zuko walked back to the infirmary and made it to the staircase before stumbling. That was when the Chief grabbed him and held him up the rest of the way. The Chief who hadn’t killed him, hadn’t even hurt him. But he would hurt him. He'd said so much. And Zuko couldn’t stop _trembling_. 

“He better not have torn his stitches.” The healer said immediately, turning from where he’d been reapplying burn salve to the other, now very concerned looking, warrior. 

“He tore his stitches.” The Chief said with a sigh. So _that_ was why Zuko’s back somehow felt even worse than before. “He also broke Tulok’s nose.” 

Tulok. The name of the man who murdered Lee. Why did these warriors have such strange names? 

The healer sighed a tired sigh, taking Zuko from the Chief. He didn’t hold him as tight as the Chief did, and eased him onto the bed. 

“Let me see.” The healer said, and Zuko realised he was indicating for him to turn his back to the door, to the _Chief._

Zuko didn’t know how to convey how much he would not be doing that, so just shook his head angrily. “Leave me alone." He hissed, pulling away from both men, though with the limited space, he could only do so by tucking up his legs and crawling back on the bed, symbolically placing his back to the _wall._

“He’s all yours, Dragon of the West.” The Chief said, smiling at the healer. “If he gives you any trouble, get me.” 

That was a threat, but Zuko didn’t say anything, because finally, the Chief left, and then there were three. 

Just Zuko, the healer, named Kanut as Zuko had managed to overhear, and the other man who was injured. He was younger than the other adults, but still older than Zuko, and had light brown hair falling to his shoulders, a blue bead threaded through one of the strands. His blue eyes were trained on Zuko, but when Zuko caught him staring, he quickly looked away, pretending to exam his burnt chest. It wasn’t a bad burn. It would leave a faint scar, but he’d live. 

Zuko glared at the healer. “You aren’t my uncle.” 

“Such harsh realities to come to terms with at bedtime.” The healer responded, folding his arms. “You gonna let me help you or not?” 

People never helped Zuko. Not for long, at least. But Zuko could feel blood dripping down his back, and he knew if he’d ripped a stitch then he could still be in trouble with his injury, and in all honestly, he was too exhausted to fight more of them off. 

“I won’t...” Zuko paused, unsure how to word this without sounding weak. He worked his jaw. “I’m not turning my back on the door.” 

The healer stared for a moment, before sighing and nodding in understanding. “Alright, tough guy.” He rooted through a drawer and pulled out a suture kit. “Sit on the end of the bed.” 

Cautiously, Zuko did, and the healer sat behind him, carefully unwrapping his bandages, and Zuko kept his eye on the door, the young warrior in the bed beside him still in his peripheral vision. Still, Zuko struggled to keep his breathing right, clutching the pai sho tile in his pocket, trying to remember the exercises he’d been doing since infancy. 

_Firebender discipline stresses self-restraint and breath control as a means of directing and containing the fire manifested._ Uncle’s voice, showing how he breathed in deep, producing fire on the exhale. _Poor breath control means dangerously poor control of any fire generated. For this reason, breathing exercises are one of the most critical first steps for beginners._

And here Zuko was, far from a beginner and still struggling with his breathing exercises. 

“Kanut, can you get me more soup when you’re done?” The other warrior asked, making Zuko jump minutely. 

“You should’ve held on tighter to your last bowl." The healer responded monotonously, and Zuko couldn’t help but loosen his scowl ever so slightly. His scowl returned upon hearing the healer’s next few words. “I don’t have enough anaesthetic to be using it on little things. Only two of the stitches have come undone. Is it okay for me to suture them?” 

He was... asking for permission. Zuko was a prisoner who had done this to himself, and still, the healer was reluctant to hurt him. What was he up to? 

“Get on with it.” Zuko grumbled, so the healer did, and Zuko pointedly didn’t wince the entire time, and a little while later, he was being eased back into bed, his back aching but not as much as before. 

“You’ll be needing a day’s rest before any other stunts like that, tough guy.” Kanut said with a smirk. Zuko nodded. 

This was not advice. This was a joke. Looking back, Kanut should have made himself clearer.


	3. i. The Fire Prince’s Southern Excursions Are Revealed And Met With A Very Negative Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so i went to lunch with my sister and this had 800 hits, i was gone like 2 hours and now it has OVER A THOUSAND??!?!?!?! WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS INFORMATION?!?! i'm obsessed with all of u suck it up. You are all so nice in the comments too, and you might notice that my body automatically shuts down when someone is nice to me and i will agree with anything you say, hence why.... chapter 3 is here! Already! Same day as chapter 2! We move!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who figured out how to add notes that's right bitch me. world domination next i think?  
> Here's another chapter because you guys are making me tear up. I've noticed a few of you have started commenting your fav lines/parts of a chapter and when i tell you that makes my day, PLEASE feel free to do this not only is it entertaining but it helps me cater to you idiots more  
> 

Kanut prodded the Prince awake every few hours for meals. The boy had completely exhausted himself and, after his escapade during his first night aboard, he finally begun acting like it. He slept like a corpse, waking up to Kanut’s jabbing with a start every time. Kanut never missed how his gold eyes were scared before they were surly. He also didn’t miss how much damage the Prince took to his pride whenever he’d wince swallowing his food. Chena had almost crushed the little brat’s windpipe. Every breath would be painful. 

Nanook recovered quickly and was back to his chores the next morning, which was odd, because Nanook and Tomkin usually milked any injury they acquired for all their worth. It seemed the younger crewmen were very, very unsettled by the Ullaakut’s newest member. 

A day passed with no incidents. That night, Kanut closed his eyes when the room was dark, the Prince opposite sleeping stubbornly on his back, and when he opened his eyes again to see the moon had moved to shine directly through the porthole, the Prince was nowhere to be seen. 

“Nope.” Kanut grumbled, rolling over in his bed. He trusted whoever was on night watch to catch the still _very much too weak to be escaping and swimming hundreds of miles to shore_ Prince Zuko. Who was on night watch tonight anyway? Kanut thought a moment, before his heart sank. 

Chena. 

Kanut cursed loudly and with passion before getting out of bed to save the little Fire Nation brat. 

____ 

Zuko wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t been told he couldn’t do. 

Zuko had waited for the healer to fall asleep, and then waited sometime after that too before he forced himself to stand – groaning as quietly as possible when pain wracked through him. His healing cut was uncomfortable as much as it was painful, like a second skin that threatened to split at any sudden movement. The other warrior that had been here last night, his name was Nanook (another peculiar name), had left one of his shirts. Zuko despised it. It was what all of the warriors wore, paired with furry blue anoraks and thick boots. It had a weird texture, rough and heavy on the inside, bristly on the outside, a strange speckled white colour, far too warm for this time of year. Nonetheless, Zuko begrudgingly pulled it on, stepping into it instead of attempting to lift his arms. It was too big on him, but Zuko was going to get away this time, and he couldn’t do that with only bandages covering his top half. 

Kanut locked the door before going to bed. Zuko still didn’t understand why the healer was treating him as a patient more than a prisoner. What was stopping Zuko from slitting the man’s throat right now? Who locks themself in with a _royal firebender?_ If he were Azula, this man would die screaming. 

But this man had patiently helped Zuko eat, and hadn’t made him face away from the door, and had _asked for permission._

Father would call his mercy weak. Zuko wished he could be strong, but for now, he would do things his way, the _honourless_ way. 

Zuko took the key from Kanut’s drawer, because Kanut had been certain Zuko hadn’t seen him put it there, and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. 

Zuko wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t been told he couldn’t do. 

The rules were simple: wait a day to escape again, and no firebending. Well, Zuko had waited a day, and he didn’t need firebending to get away from these barbarians. 

It was his own arrogance that did him in. Water Tribe warriors were savages, and he’d expected savages not to have a night watch. The big warrior, however, was very much on watch. Zuko made it to the deck before a hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him face to face with its owner. 

“Going somewhere?” The big warrior snarled. Zuko thought about answering, before deciding to just punch the man in the face. 

“You’re fucking dead!” The big warrior thundered, but he’d stumbled back a pace upon impact and Zuko backed away. His panic was numbed a little by his genuine shock at being sworn at, but it didn’t numb him enough for Zuko not to feel that he’d backed away _into someone else_. He started, heartbeat deafening in his ears, but turned to see the white hair and blue eyes of a disgruntled Kanut. 

Both men were Water Tribe who despised Zuko, but Kanut had helped him and the big warrior looked close to skinning him alive. Zuko hesitated a single second, before ducking behind Kanut like a child. 

Kanut smirked, amused by Zuko’s actions, before turning to his fellow warrior. “Chena!” He yelled, grabbing the man’s raised fist. “Enough!" 

Chena’s eye was watering from being hit so hard and blood dribbled from just above his eyebrow, but it wasn’t enough to quench his bloodlust. He glared at Zuko until Kanut shook him, forcing him to turn his gaze to the healer. Chena panted in fury for a few seconds, before pulling away. 

“Kanut,” he smiled a too sweet smile, “I think your nephew ought to visit the Chief.” 

Kanut sighed, turning to Zuko, who suddenly felt very cornered. “I think you might be right.” 

No. _No_ , Zuko couldn’t get caught again. He'd already been caught by two of the warriors, but for some reason, it didn’t feel conclusive until the Chief was mentioned. What would he do to him now? He hadn’t explicitly said Zuko couldn’t try escaping again, but prisoners have no position to barter. There would be consequences. The big warrior was itching for them, and Kanut had showed that, while he might protect Zuko from Chena, he wouldn’t do anything to stop the Chief. 

Like Uncle with Father. 

“No!” Zuko yelled - or was it more of a cry? - and tried to run again, but it was too dark and he was acting from a place of emotion like he always did – not like Azula who could always control herself – and like it always did, it got him caught. The big warrior grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, dragging him down the stairs. 

Kanut looked away. 

____ 

Hakoda was used to working into the night while the rest of his crew slept soundly below. His room, called the cabin, was both an office and a bedroom and was too small to be either. His desk was covered in maps and paperwork, his furs hung in the cupboard to his left and his messy bed pushed into the far-right corner. If Kya saw the cabin, she’d hit the roof. _Why don’t you organise yourself more? You're the Chief, Hakoda._ But then Hakoda would make her laugh, because he could always make her laugh, and she’d forget her annoyance. 

Spirits, sometimes Hakoda missed his wife so much he physically _ached._

There was never a good time for a kicking Fire Nation Prince to be dragged into his cabin, but when he was thinking of his wife who was murdered in Fire Nation raids, it was particularly ill-timed. 

“He got out again, Chief.” Chena snarled, out of breath as he wrestled the Prince over to Hakoda’s desk, shoving him into the chair opposite Hakoda and forcibly holding him in place. Kanut hung by the doorway, watching on. Kanut was very good at staying impartial, but Hakoda swore he saw a disapproving glint to his stare. 

“Let go of me!” Prince Zuko yelled, kicking the desk and trying to push back the chair. Hakoda was on his feet at this point. 

“I’ll break his legs, or cut his hands off. That'll stop him.” Chena was in a frenzy, a black eye beginning to emerge. Hakoda hadn’t seen him this angry since his got in an argument with a Northern Water Tribesman a few months ago, and each word that left Chena’s mouth made the kid wilder and wilder, like a fish that knew it'd been netted. He seemed to know that as soon as he sat still, something bad would happen. 

_And why should it not?_

Hakoda had given this kid so many warnings. Hakoda had pinned his past escape attempt on shock and delirium, but now they both knew he was lucid, and clearly strong enough to keep fighting. He had no excuse except blind defiance. 

Kya died at home, halfway through cooking a meal. She had done nothing wrong, and she wasn’t given a chance. This boy was the epitome of devastation, the bloodline of genocide, and still, he had been given chances, _and still,_ he fought back. 

It wasn't fair for him to get off without punishment. Even with a broken leg, he’d still be alive, which was more than what a Water Tribe warrior would have got on his ship, more than what Kya got. It wasn’t fair. 

“Chief?” Kanut asked, eyes narrowed on Hakoda’s rigid form. The Prince was tiring, fast, and as he finally slumped against Chena’s grip, giving into his fate, Hakoda could see he was trembling. Again, he was the scared boy, not the cruel soldier. And when Hakoda was looking closely, he saw how the Prince clutched and released his hands at the same sporadic speed as his breathing, eyes slammed shut in concentration. 

He was desperately trying not to firebend, like his life depended on it. 

Maybe it was the chair designed for a warrior, or the way Chena’s massive form loomed behind him, or Nanook’s polar leopard pelt drowning him, but Prince Zuko was suddenly so small looking. He could only be sixteen or seventeen years old. Young. He might not even have been too corrupted by the Fire Nation yet... 

And even if he had, Hakoda realised he couldn’t give the order Chena wanted him to. Because if Hakoda kept wondering what the Fire Nation would do in his shoes, then he would become them. He didn’t want this war. It had taken so much from him. 

He wouldn’t let it take his morality. 

“Chena, let him go. Leave us, please.” Hakoda said quietly, sitting back down. Chena stuttered in shock a moment, but Hakoda’s stare was hard, and eventually Chena let the kid go, barging out. Kanut gave the Chief a single nod, before following. 

It was just the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe and the Prince of the Fire Nation. 

____ 

Zuko had come to the conclusion that he preferred the big warrior to the Chief. 

Chena was like fire; painful and aggressive and _certain_. If you touch a fire, there is no way it will _not_ burn you. His intentions were clear. Zuko could predict Chena. He knew what was coming with Chena. 

But the Chief? 

There was a familiar confusion that filled Zuko when he was with the Chief. Those barren blue eyes were incoherent to him, and Zuko never knew what to say to make things right. Whenever Zuko readied himself, muscles turning rigid as he’d learnt to, eyes on the floor as he’d learnt to, the Chief’s blow never came. 

“You’re clearly strong enough for an interrogation if Kanut isn’t keeping you away in the infirmary anymore.” The Chief said, though the insinuation that a healer had told a Chief what he could and couldn’t do with a prisoner astounded Zuko. “Start talking. Don't miss anything.” The Chief ordered, completely filling the excessively big chairs of his office. 

Zuko stared, before realising he was staring and looking down, eyes widening when he saw maps. If he could figure out where he was, he could figure out how far away land was. He was a good swimmer. If it was nearby, he could-. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Your Majesty." The Chief growled, and there was that incorrect title again. Zuko pulled himself up as proudly as he could, sitting on his hands, and definitely not because they kept _shaking_. 

“What do you want me to tell you?” Zuko asked, because what kind of order was _start talking._ Start talking about what? 

The Chief didn’t like that response. There was a quick temper in him, one he hid behind a cool gaze, like Father. 

“Where was your ship heading?” 

Zuko frowned. He had heard horror stories of interrogations. Such simple questions were not what he was expecting. He was expecting questions on Fire Nation battle plans, on the navy and the army, on the strengths and weaknesses of each general, on his father. The direction of the Erlong – a banished Prince’s lone ship populated by a miniscule crew – wasn’t particularly dangerous information to give. 

“I was following the sky bison. They were heading north.” 

The Chief blinked. “... Did you say _sky bison_?” 

Zuko nodded, remembering his own shock at finding out the creature that had been extinct for a hundred years was the Avatar’s _transportation._ A particularly fast mode of transportation that had evaded Zuko for weeks. 

The Chief waited a moment, as if he expected Zuko to elaborate, like Zuko would _enthusiastically_ give this savage information, even if that information was worthless. 

When it became apparent that Zuko intended to do the bare minimum, talking enough to stay alive but not enough to endanger his nation, the Chief leaned back in his chair. “You said _they_ were heading north; you were following someone?” 

Zuko didn’t understand why the Chief was asking. Was he hunting the Avatar too? Was this a trick? Was that why the two Water Tribe peasants were with the Avatar? Zuko grew immediately defensive, like he did every time Zhao caught up, but he couldn’t lie to the Chief. He just... couldn’t. 

“The Avatar.” Zuko muttered, those two words fighting to stay unspoken. 

“Speak up.” 

“The Avatar!" Zuko yelled, clutching his fists to keep them from igniting, quickly shrinking back against his chair as the Chief’s icy eyes widened ever so slightly. 

Zuko had just _yelled_ at him. 

“Sorry, I-." _Why was Zuko apologising?_ He quickly worked his mouth firmly shut, scowl returning. 

“Prince Zuko, the Avatar hasn’t been seen in a hundred years.” The Chief said, that look in his eyes, like Zuko was stupid. Zuko wasn’t stupid. 

“ _I know that._ Of course I know that.” Zuko hissed. “He hadn’t been seen in a hundred years, _until a few weeks ago_. I was hunting him, and we were in the South Pole when this beam of light-.” 

“You were in the South Pole?" The Chief’s tone had gone as cold as his eyes, his entire posture rigid. Zuko realised something he should have realised when he first saw these men. He'd assumed they were from the Northern Water Tribe, because they were _closer_ to the Northern Water Tribe, but what if they were from the South? Zuko wracked his brain back to his first encounter with the Avatar. That tiny village, those two children. There were lots of children actually, and elderly, and women. 

But no men. 

There were no men, because the warriors were right here with Zuko. 

“You’re from the Southern Tribe.” Zuko whispered, and the Chief leaned forward. 

____ 

Hakoda had needed to know what the Prince had been doing before the Water Tribe took him. Hakoda needed to know how much power the Fire Lord granted his heir. One lone ship with a crew smaller than the Ullaakut’s seemed very, very unlikely. Prince Zuko must have been en route to meeting up with a bigger force, a navy crew, or perhaps an invasion. If there was a Fire Nation attack coming, Hakoda wanted to know so he could warn those on the receiving end of it. The Prince had said he was heading north, because _he had already been south_. 

"You’re from the Southern Tribe.” The kid said, as if only just realising, and Hakoda leaned forward, not wanting to miss even the minutest of expressions on the Prince’s face. 

“You went south?” Hakoda asked again. His tone held none of the mercy it had previously, and the boy noticed, because his form somehow tensed more, shoulders back, chin up. Militaristic, even though Nanook’s shirt slipped from his shoulder ever so slightly. 

“Yes, but-.” 

“With how many men?" Hakoda interrupted whatever lies the little brat was about to tell. This wasn’t the first time Hakoda had interrogated a Fire Nation soldier. It was the first time the soldier hadn’t been in chains, and it was the first time Hakoda had refrained from wanting to resort to violence, but the rest was familiar. He knew the savage glint that overcame those metallic eyes, the venom they spat from their tongues. Fire Nation soldiers lied like it was a competitive sport, their words meant to do damage. 

The Prince frowned, as if he didn’t know what conversation they were having. “Just the crew of the Erlong.” 

Hakoda could remember the raids. He remembered everything. He remembered how the snow fell black on their village, how the elders uttered quiet prayers to the Spirits, how the warriors raced forward to stare down those oncoming ships. When Hakoda was a boy, the Fire Nation sent more than five ships at a time, and the warriors and benders worked side by side to put up as much of a fight as they could. The last raid Hakoda saw, the raid that snatched his beloved Kya from him, saw only a single ship. 

_Just the crew of the Erlong._

And Hakoda saw Katara’s blue eyes looking up at him on the days he’d return home, weary after searching for a master to teach her. The last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. The Fire Nation must have found out about her existence, must have sent a handful of men to deal with her. And a handful would be enough, because Katara was just a little girl, and when she practiced, it always left Sokka drenched. She couldn’t hold off one Fire Nation soldier, let alone a _crew_. 

“How long ago?” Hakoda growled through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t think you understand." Prince Zuko breathed, blanching, as if he knew he had been caught. 

“ _How long ago?!_ ” Hakoda yelled, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to scatter his papers. The Prince looked close to leaping out of his seat, horror on his features and terror no longer having any place to hide in his eyes. The look of a petrified child, quite possibly the last look Hakoda’s little Katara donned. 

“I... I... Uh... I think...” The Prince stuttered, knuckles white as he gripped the chair, as if wrenching himself in place. “A month ago, maybe more.” 

A month ago. _Maybe more_. Hakoda was here and his family had needed him _weeks_ ago. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It had killed Hakoda to leave his village, pulling Sokka’s arms from him, wiping away Katara’s tears with his thumb, making his mother promise to take care of them. But he knew they’d be there waiting for him when he returned home. It was always _his_ death that plagued him, the thought he’d die in battle and abandon his children. 

He’d never thought his kids would abandon _him_. 

“Go to the infirmary.” Hakoda ordered, and he couldn’t even look at the boy before him. “You are in the middle of the ocean with no way to get off this ship. If you escape again, you _will_ be caught, and I won’t spare your life this time, Prince Zuko.” 

The Prince was watching like he expected Hakoda to snap, gold eyes burning into him. He stood slowly, cautiously, and took a single step back, gauged the reaction from Hakoda, before taking another step. He slid his gaze to the door, then to the Chief again, and as if buoyed by his new distance from the desk, spoke. 

“I don’t know what you think happened in the South Pole, but I went for the Avatar. I didn’t hurt anyone, I'm not a barbarian like you." He hissed, but his feet were positioned like he was ready to bolt. Did he even _know_ he’d rooted his stance like that, or was it instinctive? What kind of kid has those instincts? 

And Hakoda swore if the Prince lied to him one more time about this ridiculous Avatar story, he’d kill him here and now, screw General Fong. The Avatar hadn’t been seen in a hundred years. Prince Zuko was trying to cover up the raid on the South Pole by exploiting the Tribesmen’s belief in spirits. 

“I think you were part of a Fire Nation raid on my people, and that you will lie through your teeth to have me think otherwise.” Hakoda said levelly, though the words hollowed him in one blow. The Prince’s eyes widened, as if that was a sentence he hadn’t expected. 

“But I wasn’t! I have my _own_ mission. I'm not even part of the Fire Nation-… Well, not anymore, and I will be again soon, but-.” 

Hakoda held up his hand to silence the spiel of words tumbling from the boy’s mouth and Prince Zuko abruptly stopped talking. At least that was a gesture he understood. 

“What do you mean, you’re not part of the Fire Nation?” Hakoda asked, because of all the lies to tell, that was a peculiar one. “You’re their _Prince_.” 

Prince Zuko looked between his feet and the door, as if sorely tempted to try escaping again, but he seemed to remember Hakoda’s firm warning because he stayed put. 

“I...” The Prince struggled, not great at conveying himself at the best of times. “It was my fault. I offended Father. He had to teach me a lesson so he sent me away.” 

Hakoda leaned back against his chair, narrowing his eyes on the Prince. Of everything he’d said, Hakoda couldn’t pinpoint why he knew with absolutely certainty that this, at least, was not a lie. Maybe it was the kid’s pride, or his anger as he spoke about his own shortcomings. It was too real to be a lie. 

Hakoda wondered if the Prince even noticed he’d touched his scar as he’d spoken. 

“And that burn?” Hakoda asked, and the Prince actually _flinched_. 

“It was my fault.” Prince Zuko repeated, cementing Hakoda’s initial assumption that he’d done it to himself in training. 

But that didn’t settle the storm within Hakoda. Being sent away from home – Hakoda guessed for around a month from what the Prince had said earlier - and being burnt were two connected incidents, Hakoda could tell by how the boy reacted to the mention of both, but _how?_

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that this boy had been sent away, because he’d still been south. Hakoda couldn’t trust a word he said. 

Ruination was a song the Fire Nation knew well, a song whose lyrics curled from their tongues in infancy, a song whose harmonies lay in their skeletons. This boy was a teenager, but his instincts were primal. 

“Go to Kanut." Hakoda finally ordered, and this time, after a moment’s hesitation, the Prince did as he was told. 

____ 

There was a right thing to say here. 

No matter what the situation, there was always a right thing to say. Uncle always knew without trying, and Azula would know before anyone else and make it her own, and Father expected Zuko to figure it out because Father could hardly teach Zuko _everything_ , especially not the basics. But Zuko had never been able to figure it out. He couldn’t be the son his father wanted no matter how many ways he tore himself apart and put himself together again. And now, like every other time in Zuko’s miserable life, he didn’t know what this man wanted him to say, and everything he was saying angered him further when he didn’t even mean to, and he didn’t even know what was happening, and _he was telling the truth._

But what did that matter when the Chief didn’t believe him? 

The infirmary was on the same floor as the Chief’s office. To Zuko’s right, at the end of the thin corridor, was a staircase leading to the deck, the ocean. If Zuko had more honour, he’d have thrown himself overboard by now. Father would rather a dead son than a captured son. 

But Zuko didn’t have any honour, so he moodily walked to the infirmary. 

“How’d it go?” Kanut asked, only glancing up momentarily from the book in his hand. 

Zuko didn’t want to talk about it. The Chief thought Zuko visiting the South Pole was part of a raid, that Zuko had hurt people. Zuko had swallowed his pride to tell the Chief about his banishment, and still, the Chief refused to listen to anything he said, simply because his eyes were gold and his blood was Fire Nation. It wasn’t _fair_ , and Zuko was tired, and his back hurt, and he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Are you going to handcuff me?” Zuko hated how quiet he spoke. 

Kanut snorted, as if it was a ridiculous question, but his amusement slowly fell when Zuko only glared. The healer sighed. “I'll be checking your back in the morning so no escaping until then. Get some sleep, tough guy.” 

It sounded like a trick, but Kanut just returned to his book. Zuko edged to the bed, but even as he lay down, turning to get a better view of the healer, Kanut didn’t move to attack. Zuko noticed a set of faint white scars marking Kanut’s hands, dancing over his knuckles, sloping over his palms when he turned the pages of his book. Zuko hadn’t noticed them before. He could tell they were old, and had been serious at the time of injury. 

There was something reassuring in knowing that even these warriors could be harmed. With the gentle rocking of the ship and the warm pull Zuko felt from the flame of the nearby oil lamp, Zuko suddenly felt his eyes falling shut. 

His hand found the pai sho tile in his pocket. He didn’t miss Uncle. Missing people implied that you needed them, and relying on others was weak. But Zuko thought that maybe he would quite like it if Uncle were here right now. People listened to Uncle. They never listened to Zuko. 

“Kanut?” Zuko asked quietly. 

The healer flicked his blue eyes to the Prince. “What do you want, tough guy?” He asked, enjoying how the kid always pulled a face at the now recurring nickname. 

Zuko held his pai sho tile tighter. “Do you like tea?” 

Kanut stared, before smiling and leaning over to his desk, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a jar of tea leaves, a strainer, and two cups. 

“I thought you’d never ask." 

____ 

Tulok had been fast asleep when Hakoda woke him and brought him to the cabin, which was exactly how Tulok knew that this was an emergency. 

“Chief, what’s going on?" Tulok asked groggily, forcing himself to wake up. All the warriors aboard the Ullaakut knew how to wake up quick, fearing invasions, attacks, predators, storms. That didn’t mean Tulok’s nose didn’t send waves of pain through his entire face. He had to give it to the Fire Prince; he struck a mean blow. 

Hakoda didn’t look so good. Tulok wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t spent so long at sea with the Chief, but he saw it now in the tension of Hakoda’s shoulders. They were braced, as if carrying the entire world. 

“His _Majesty_ escaped again. Chena caught him. I got him talking. Tulok," Hakoda’s blue eyes cut straight into Tulok, and he stood taller under his Chief’s stare, “I consider you a friend, but what I'm about to tell you is information passed from a Chief to a navigator. Understand?” 

Tulok did understand. Tulok was the Ullaakut’s head navigator, reading the weather and the winds and the maps, setting their course, telling the other crewmen which direction to turn. Sometimes, that meant he knew things others didn’t. Telling the entire crew a possibly fatal storm was coming only caused panic, which caused more danger, so sometimes, Tulok and Hakoda kept things to themselves until the last minute. 

Hakoda was a good friend, but he was also an excellent Chief, and right now, there was a distinction between the two. 

“I understand, sir." Tulok said. 

Hakoda nodded, and they both sat at his desk. Hakoda explained with a cool expression and even cooler tone, explained how the Fire Nation had been south again, explained how the Prince was an excellent liar and they could trust only what their own eyes showed them. Hakoda didn’t know how many had died in this raid. 

So, they would go south to find out for themselves. 

“Hakoda, we’re between Whaletail and Kyoshi Island.” Tulok said, pointing appropriately to their location on Hakoda’s map. “A diversion to the South Pole will take two weeks in each direction, and that’s only if the wind stays as good as it has been. They expected us back at Chameleon Bay from the North Pole _last week_. This sets us another month behind schedule.” 

Logistically, this was a nightmare, but Tulok and Hakoda both seemed to realise that there was no way they _couldn’t_ go home. Their men at Chameleon Bay could wait a little longer. Tulok's family needed him _now_. His wife, his pregnant sister who definitely wasn’t pregnant anymore, his little boy. And the Chief – whose daughter was a waterbender; the last target of the raids - would move this world and the Spirit World to keep Katara safe. 

“Then I guess I should start writing my apologies to the men at Chameleon Bay.” Hakoda said grimly, and Tulok allowed a small, fierce smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Zuko Realises Things He Should Have Realised Sooner and Hakoda Bugs Me With Annoyingly Sound Cynicism. Also don't be mad at Chena. He doesn't think before he attacks; Kanna held all of the southern water tribe's brain cells and she gave them Bato.


	4. i. Tomkin Fraternises With The Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this has over 2000 hits i literally do not know how to act thank you all so so much, and the people who comment you are my FAVOURITE. Keep telling me your favourite lines and parts etc because it's really helping me suss out what you guys like (aka Tomkin and Kanut BOTH now have fangirls and i wouldn't have it any other way).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to the beach today watch me impress some surfer boys with my acne and bad coordination. Because of said beach day, I'm posting chapter 4 quite early in the morning for you all. Anyways, chapter 4 is probably the one MOST heavily inspired by salvage and you know what? i'm not sorry. just me taking crumbs from a masterpiece. GO! READ! SALVAGE!
> 
> Have a nice day idiots don't do anything i wouldn't do x

It was quickly apparent that not a single member of the Ullaakut knew what to do with the Fire Prince. Kanut found this very funny, because it seemed the Prince imprinted on him when he was semi-conscious and now the two drank tea together, meaning Kanut tended to be spared from the royal’s surliness. 

Hakoda, who was not spared from the royal’s surliness, found this less funny. Chena, less still. 

They opted for the system that had worked so far. The Prince was still recovering from a serious injury and needed medical attention every few hours, so he would stay in the infirmary for the foreseeable future. At least the infirmary had a good lock, and Kanut could sleep in his hammock on the berth deck so he wouldn’t have to share a room with a temperamental and getting-stronger-by-the-day firebender. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it would have to do. 

A soft knock echoed through the cabin and Hakoda looked up from the letter he was writing. He had three to write. The first, to Bato, so he knew where his tribe where, though Hakoda thought it was probably too soon to hope for his Second to be catching up. The second, to the men at Chameleon Bay that had been waiting for the supplies Hakoda had received from the Northern Water Tribe. This letter was easier. It was to Hakoda’s own men after all; they knew family came before service. The final letter was to General Fong. Hakoda was yet to write to the Earth Kingdom General informing him of the Ullaakut’s latest crewman, to keep in case Prince Zuko didn’t survive his injuries. Now, it was apparent the Prince would survive if only to spite Hakoda. 

Hakoda kept the letter vague, telling General Fong about their royal prisoner and asking to meet him at the port of Weihai in three week's time. Weihai was a small Earth Kingdom island to the East of the South Pole. 

Three weeks with the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and no cell to keep him in. 

What could go wrong? 

“Come in.” Hakoda said, making his tone normal and quickly hiding the letters. It was important that news of the Fire Nation in the south stayed between him and Tulok. If the crew found out, it would cause panic, and it would also cause the Prince’s premature death. General Fong didn’t want a corpse. 

“Hey, Chief.” Tomkin smiled, but strangely, it didn’t reach his eyes. Nanook was at his side, as usual, having half a head on the younger boy, and nodded in greeting. 

“Is everything alright?” Hakoda asked, because those two together only ever meant trouble. 

“We think the Prince is on hunger strike.” Nanook said simply, leaning against the wall. Hakoda sighed loudly. As if writing these letters wasn’t giving him _enough_ of a headache. 

“We took food into the infirmary and everything," Tomkin said, more bothered by this than Nanook, “but he just glared at us until Kanut came back. It was creepy. Kanut says he hasn’t eaten since sunset yesterday.” 

And it was almost midday, meaning the Prince’s hunger strike was about to reach its seventeenth hour. Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“And has Kanut tried to make him eat?" Hakoda asked, because it seemed Prince Zuko at least _listened_ to what the Angakkuq said, even if he didn’t always comply. 

“Kanut was the one who told us to bring him food. He's busy checking over Chena and Tulok." Nanook said. 

Hakoda remembered one time, when Sokka was seven. Hakoda had told Sokka he couldn’t stay out playing because some of the warriors had spotted polar bears nearby, and Sokka promptly refused to eat his dinner until he was allowed to play. As a father, Hakoda had panicked, not wanting his son to be hungry, so they compromised; Sokka could play for an hour, _after_ he’d eaten. 

But the Fire Prince was not Sokka, and Hakoda was the boy’s captor, and Hakoda didn’t know the atrocities he wasn’t telling him about what really happened in the South Pole. 

“Let him starve then." Hakoda said. “Bring him food, but if he’s too proud to eat, that’s on him.” 

____ 

They were taunting Zuko. They were playing mind games expecting him to fall for them. Well, Zuko wasn’t weak. He wouldn’t give in so easy. 

The boy with the ponytail and the boy with the beads in his hair, better known in Zuko’s mind as Sword Thief and Soup Boy, were sat on Kanut’s bunk, cross legged with several plates of food spread out between them. This was the second time today they’d come into the infirmary with food. Zuko knew they were taunting him, because aside them two and the healer coming in to grab supplies, no one risked unlocking the heavy lock of the infirmary’s door that was currently keeping Zuko prisoner. 

“I’m just saying, Chena doesn’t know that we know it’s there, and Aput checks it every _other_ week. We could just take a little-.” 

“I’m not helping you steal from the rum stash." Soup Boy said exasperatedly, flicking a crusty strip of meat that Zuko didn’t recognise at Sword Thief. Sword Thief had spent the last few minutes conveying a surprisingly coherent argument for why they should raid the ship’s alcohol supply. From Soup Boy’s response, it was a plan he’d been pushing for a while. 

Sword Thief went to respond, a smile on his lips, before his blue eyes flicked to Zuko’s gold own. Zuko had spent this entire encounter sat rigidly on the infirmary bed, on the other side of the room. He'd actually been staring at their food, willing his stomach not to growl, but made sure to glare when the warrior’s attention turned to him. What kind of savage ate in front of a hungry prisoner anyway? It was messed up, but Zuko wouldn’t _beg_. 

The two boys met each other’s stare and Sword Thief immediately ducked his head, quickly eating more food, as if to prove a point. Soup Boy narrowed his eyes at the other Tribesman, like he thought he was acting strangely, but didn’t say anything. Silence descended, which Zuko had quickly noticed with these two was very rare. 

It didn’t last. 

“I can’t do this anymore!" Sword Thief suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Zuko immediately stood up in a defensive stance, swallowing the urge to ignite his hands even a little bit, the cut on his back complaining at the quick movement, but to his surprise, there wasn’t malice in Sword Thief’s wide eyes. There was something else, something Zuko didn’t recognise. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” Sword Thief asked, and Zuko’s mind went blank. His confusion went from a spark to a full inferno when Sword Thief kept talking. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad because I took your swords, then I'm sorry. I thought they were cool, and in my defence, I didn’t even know they were yours, and we’re hardly _arming_ you anytime soon so it’s not like you’re using them, and... and why does a firebender even _want_ swords? I just assumed they were decorative-.” 

“What are you talking about?" Zuko asked quietly, staring at the other boy. Sword Thief stuttered into silence, blinking, and Zuko could practically see his mind trying to connect what was happening here. 

“Well,” Sword Thief swallowed, suddenly growing sheepish, looking to a very amused Soup Boy for help and receiving only a grin in response, “we’ve brought you food twice today, and you haven’t touched anything. I figured it might be because _I_ was the one bringing the food, that you’re.... like... I don’t know... mad at me?" 

If Zuko wasn’t so hungry, that string of incoherence may have baffled him more, but now, his mind repeated the same few words. _We've brought you food twice._ But... but that wasn’t _true_. They'd brought themselves food, setting the plates out between them, eating off of each other’s and sharing just about everything. It had been a mind game. 

And what did a Watertribesman _care_ if Zuko was mad at him? 

“You didn’t bring me food.” Was all Zuko managed after a few seconds of silence, because it seemed each of the three boys were _very_ confused in _very_ different ways. 

“Oh.” Soup Boy suddenly murmured, making everyone look to him. “ _Oh_.” He repeated again, as if he’d come to an important realisation, though it couldn’t be that important because Zuko was the only one he was looking at. 

“What? What is it?” Sword Thief asked desperately. Soup Boy looked close to facepalming. 

“I don’t think the Fire Nation have communal meals." Soup Boy said, and Zuko frowned. 

“What do you mean, _communal?_ " Zuko asked, and that seemed to clarify whatever Soup Boy was getting at, because Sword Thief’s mouth fell open. Zuko didn’t like how they both stared at him, but there wasn’t anything negative in their gaze. They simply looked _curious_ , and perhaps... maybe... embarrassed? 

“Spirits, we’re dumber than Chena.” Sword Thief said, before grabbing all of the plates expertly and moving them to Zuko’s bed. Zuko jumped back when he came close, sitting down and crawling with his back pressed to the wall like he’d done on his first night here, but Sword Thief seemed oblivious as he carefully laid out the food. Content that it was all where he wanted it, he hopped onto the bed, much to Zuko’s horror, and sat cross-legged not even two metres away. 

“Hey, Little Tom, maybe don’t sit so close-.” 

“Your name is Tom?" Zuko asked in shock, interrupting Soup Boy’s caution as the other warrior came to sit on the bed beside Zuko’s, the very bed where Zuko stole his soup from him. 

Sword Thief blinked his wide blue eyes. “Yeah. Well, technically it’s Tomkin, but all the adults call me Little Tom. Nanook, however,” he threw another of those strange strips of meat at Soup Boy, “is not that much older than me, and certainly not old enough to be calling me _little_." 

Nanook grinned, shrugging as he pinched some food from one of Tom’s- _Tomkin’s_ plates. Zuko didn’t recognise any of these foods. It was all... meaty. Zuko recognised the plate of steamed fish, but where was the garnish? And where was the fruit and vegetables? Why was there nothing that had been baked? Where were the _spices?_

“Why’d you ask?" Tomkin asked, cocking his head so that his odd braided ponytail fell sideways. 

Zuko shrugged, not liking the seating arrangement. They'd cornered him on purpose, he was sure of it. Zuko could take these two boys if he had perfect health and his firebending, but currently, even breathing made his stitches sting, and he didn’t know if he wanted to risk firebending. The Chief had been so cold when he promised to chain Zuko up, or throw him overboard. 

“Everyone here has weird names." Zuko mumbled with a scowl. “ _Tom_ is the only normal one I've heard.” 

Tom, like Mai’s little brother. A Fire Nation name. Something familiar in a literal sea of strangeness and danger. Zuko was embarrassed he’d let this slip. Maybe it was the smell of the food shaking his senses, the plates sat so close, tantalisingly close. Zuko was losing his mind. 

“You hear that, Little Tom?” Nanook grinned. “You pass as Fire Nation.” 

“ _Stop_ calling me Little Tom. You're only two years older than me!” Tomkin said. 

“Don’t you forget it.” 

Zuko watched the two talking as he had earlier. The only difference now was that the food had been moved even closer to him. If this was a torture ordered by the Chief, then it was certainly working. 

“Hey, Your Majesty?” Nanook asked suddenly, and Zuko flinched when he looked up, angry he’d let his guard slip _again_ , but Nanook was only watching him with... concern? 

“You can eat, you know." He said, and Zuko just stared at him. Nanook had mentioned this _communal meal_ idea, but Zuko didn’t understand. These plates were Tomkin’s and Nanook’s. 

“Eat what?" Zuko asked, hands clenched into fists. It was all so frustrating. The way they looked at him like he should have figured this out by now. They would laugh at him in a minute, laugh because like always he just couldn’t catch what they were getting at. Zuko focussed on his breathing. He _wouldn’t_ firebend. 

“See how there’s a load of plates, and they’ve all got different food on?” Nanook said, and his tone was patient, his small smile kind as he pointed at the food. “Well, where we come from, we all eat together. We put it in the middle – like this – and then we just... help ourselves.” 

“Do they not do that in the Fire Nation?” Tomkin asked, bewildered, like this was the only normal way to eat food he could think of. Zuko could only shake his head. This... looked exactly like when they’d brought food in here earlier, and Zuko had just glared hatefully, not touching anything, even though in their minds, they’d been offering it to him. He felt so _stupid._

“So... none of the plates are mine?” Zuko tried, hating the uncertainty of it. Back home, if he didn’t understand, he stayed quiet, because speaking out of turn was absolutely unforgiveable. But now, Zuko was just so _hungry_ , and confused, and everything was painful because of that stupid big warrior. 

“They’re all yours.” Tomkin said. “And they’re all mine, and they’re all Nanook’s. We share. See." 

And Tomkin proceeded to grab an empty plate, filling it with various foods from each of the other plates, before he slowly handed it Zuko with the cautiousness of someone who’d just remembered that the teenager before them was the Fire Prince. From this close, Zuko could see the callouses in the brown skin of Tomkin’s hands, the swoop of the other boy’s jawline being tickled by furs, how his blue eyes seemed warm in the glow of the oil lamp. 

Zuko stared, the food staring right back, and his stomach growled. He matched Tomkin’s caution as he took the plate from him, but Tomkin didn’t snatch it back, or start laughing. He just smiled, tucking into his own food. 

And the food was _nice_. It had none of the spice from back home, and what wasn’t cold was steamed or boiled but never cooked, and it was salty enough to make Zuko eat slower regardless of his hunger, but despite all of that, it tasted nice. And he couldn’t get used to how Nanook would suddenly lean over from the left, making Zuko flinch each time because his sight had been blurry in his left eye since he dishonoured Father, but Nanook was only ever taking more food, and Tomkin would never yell at him for stealing because it wasn’t stealing, it was _sharing_. 

And it was nice. 

“The food we eat is good for storage. We travel for months on end sometimes, so can’t have food that goes off.” Nanook explained, and Zuko listened eagerly. He told himself he was gathering information on these people, but he knew he was silently mesmerised by their strange, nomadic culture. “We eat a lot of meat, because it keeps us warm and fit, and it’s almost always readily available.” 

“And because I am a superb hunter.” Tomkin said through a mouthful of food. 

Nanook snorted. “If by superb you mean you shoot us more than the animals, then yes, you’re _incredible_.” 

Zuko tried not to let out even the smallest chuckle when he looked to Tomkin. “You shot one of the crew?” 

“It was one time!" Tomkin yelled, and Nanook burst out laughing. “Kanut said it was barely a flesh wound, and Tulok forgave me anyway.” 

_Tulok_. Zuko’s small smile fell, and he suddenly saw nothing but blood on the pai sho table and terror in Lee’s eyes. He put his plate down, appetite up in flames. 

“Hey, you not hungry, Your Majesty?” Tomkin seemed friendly when he spoke, but it was bad timing. Zuko was telling himself over and over that these people were savages. He couldn’t forget that. _How_ did he forget that, even for a moment? 

“ _Your Highness_.” Zuko spat. “ _Majesty_ is for addressing the Fire Lord." 

The two Water Tribesmen watched him for a second, flicking a glance to one another at the blatant shift in Zuko’s mood. He wouldn’t let himself relax again. Not in front of these two boys that were so nearly his age. Not in front of Kanut who pretended to try and help him. Not in front of any of them. Zuko was going to get away, get back to Uncle. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to avenge Lee, but he wouldn’t sit and chat to his killers either. 

“Well," Tomkin tried for a smile, placing a strip of what Zuko now knew to be blubbered seal jerky on Zuko’s plate, “when me and Fire Lord Ozai next hang out, I'll keep that in mind." 

Nanook chuckled, but Zuko only stared at his plate. 

____ 

“I just feel that he’s not _bad_.” Tomkin said quietly as him and Nanook double-checked they’d locked the Prince in, taking a handful of empty plates from the infirmary. “He looks bad, and he’s from a bad place, and everything in me says he’s bad inherently but... I don’t know Nan... I look at him and he just seems like a scared kid." 

Nanook knew what his friend meant, but he wouldn’t entertain the thought. That boy wasn’t just Fire Nation, he was a Prince. He would be _Fire Lord_ one day. Nanook wasn’t as forgiving as Tomkin. He'd thought Tomkin would hate Prince Zuko more than anybody after what the Fire Nation took from him, but it wasn’t in Tomkin’s nature to be hateful. He always assumed the best. It was why the crew took care of him so much. That goodness would get him hurt one day. 

Nanook wanted to think the Prince wasn’t bad like Tomkin said, like even his own gut said, but if he had to be cynical to keep Tomkin safe, then he would. 

“He’s Fire Nation, Little Tom." Nanook said. "He’ll be biding his time while he’s injured, and when he’s ready, he’ll go for us. We're no more than a bunch of idiot savages to him." 

“Maybe you’re right.” Tomkin sighed as they headed to Hakoda’s cabin to tell him the Prince had eaten. Tomkin tried to sound truthful, but Nanook had been there when the youngest crewman put that strip of seal jerky on Prince Zuko’s plate. To the Prince, it was just being given more food, but to a Southern Watertribesman, it was a gesture. Sharing food was what they did, but physically placing food from your plate onto the plate of another was a direct invitation to be friends. 

“Do yourself a favour, Tomkin." Nanook said when they reached the cabin, smiling a little. “Don’t fraternise with the enemy.” 

____ 

The Ullaakut was a vessel that needed constant maintenance. Every day, chores had to be carried out to keep the ship and everyone on it running smoothly. The chores were tiring, but necessary. Every crewman pulled their weight. 

And Hakoda realised before he went to sleep that night that, if the Prince wanted to stay on their ship instead of being thrown overboard, why should he not pull his weight too? Nobody gained anything from locking him in the infirmary all day. All that did was make Kanut’s life more difficult, and it’s not like it was really keeping the Prince from escaping. A locked door is still pointless when said door is flammable. It would be better to make the Prince work. Then the Ullaakut benefitted, and Prince Zuko would be made too tired to cause trouble. 

That was why the next morning saw Hakoda watching from the wheel as a surly Fire Nation teenager learnt how to caulk a deck. 

“Chief, if he tears anymore of those stitches-." 

“I’ve told Tulok and Aput to go easy on him for now." Hakoda interrupted Kanut’s grumbled concern, still not completely understanding the weird bond between the Angakkuq and the Prince of the Fire Nation. 

Kanut tapped his knuckles against the wooden helm, never looking away from the Prince below, as if he’d somehow be able to see through Prince Zuko’s stone front if the kid did wind up hurting himself. “You’re punishing him.” 

Hakoda frowned, looking to Kanut fully. “Of course I am. He's a Fire Nation soldier, their _Prince_ -.” 

“No, you’re punishing him for something else, something more specific, something you’re not telling me." Kanut said, his tone monotonous, and Hakoda sucked in a breath. 

Kanut was observant. He had to be; he was a healer. He was also one of Hakoda’s oldest friends, next to Bato. Kanut had practically been raised by Hakoda’s mother. They just _knew_ each other. 

“I need you to trust me." Hakoda finally said, turning back to the wheel. 

It was quiet for a few seconds before Kanut responded. “Chief,” he said grimly, “I trust you with my life.” 

Hakoda knew his crew would notice their change in course sooner or later. The air would get colder, the water would begin to freeze, questions would be raised. Hakoda would bide his time until then. 

____ 

Zuko had never heard of _caulking_ until today, and he decided immediately that he hated it with his entire being. 

“So, you take the caulking mallet, then you use it to drive the irons into the seams." One of the older crewmen, a black-haired man called Aput, explained, sat with Zuko on the ship’s deck. “The aim is to drive the oakum between the planks. It keeps the ship watertight and just generally stiffens the wood, so it’s more stable." 

Zuko didn’t miss Aput’s taut tone, or the subtle glances he flicked the Chief, who was watching every move Zuko made from the helm like a lion vulture honing in on a Komodo chicken. Caulking itself wasn’t actually all that bad. It wasn’t strenuous, so Zuko’s back didn’t pull at him too much, and he finally got to sit in the sun instead of being locked up below deck. But it was hard to feel content with the Watertribesmen constantly walking around the ship, and the sea spreading out endlessly around him, and the Chief _still staring._

Then there was Tulok. 

It was clear that the Chief had tasked both Aput and Tulok to watch Zuko today as he did their chores for them, like a servant, or some beat down, pathetic prisoner, and now Tulok leaned on the railing. _Behind_ Zuko. To his _left_. And Aput wondered why he was struggling to concentrate on the stupid _caulking._

“Hey, Your Royal Shittiness, is this work above you or something? Pay attention." Aput said, flicking his fingers in front of Zuko’s face. Zuko glared at him before looking down at the strange tools in front of him. He still wasn’t used to being sworn at. It wasn’t that Zuko wasn’t used to swearing. Sailors had a reputation for being a foulmouthed bunch, and he’d often caught the crew of the Erlong swearing when they thought he wasn’t listening. He knew plenty of curses himself, and had even been told off by Uncle on the occasions his temper truly got the best of him. But it was being sworn _at_ that Zuko wasn’t used to. Being the Prince meant Zuko demanded respect. If the crew of the Erlong even _thought_ he’d overheard them, they’d apologise immediately. These warriors weren’t like that. Zuko even got the feeling they weren’t doing it to purposely disrespect him; they simply were that ill-mannered. 

Zuko worked his jaw, narrowing his golden eyes on the caulking and nothing else. He had been taught since birth how to hold himself and how to expect things. Holding a completely rigid posture, concentrating hard enough to give himself a headache, Zuko could focus on the caulking while also keeping tabs on what Tulok and the Chief were up to. 

“If you need a break-.” 

“ _I’m not tired_.” Zuko hissed, interrupting Tulok’s third suggestion that he stop. He knew it was a trick, that they were mocking him. He'd work till he bled if it proved a point. 

“Please kid, Kanut’ll have our heads if you hurt yourself." Aput said, chuckling. Zuko refused to look away from the deck. He didn’t trust his temper. He was so close to Tulok, and he could so easily do quite a bit of damage before anyone got the chance to pull him away. 

Zuko hammered the mallet down harder to prove a point. 

____ 

“He finished." 

“He... what?" Hakoda asked, staring at Aput to see if he was joking. Aput just shrugged his big shoulders, but Hakoda could tell the other crewman was impressed. 

“He caulked all the spots that needed doing." Aput said. Hakoda frowned, leaning against the rail of the helm to see Prince Zuko still holding the tools, hammering in some oakum that looked decidedly wedged in enough, sat just shy of the shade cast by the mainsail. He was following the sun. Either that, or he really hated Tulok stood behind him and was trying to move away. Knowing the infuriating capability of the boy, it was probably both. 

“We’ve had two Fire Nation attacks. The deck’s in the worst condition it’s been in for _months_." 

“Not anymore." Aput smirked. “The little bastard gets stubborn if you offer him a break, makes him work harder.” 

“You did make him have a break though, right?" Kanut asked suddenly, making Aput jump with the hardness of the healer’s stare. 

“We offered. He refused." Aput said, as if expecting a berating now from either the Chief or the Angakkuq. Hakoda just watched Kanut curiously, waiting to see how he reacted. Kanut sighed, before walking to the rail, blue eyes landing on the Prince. 

“Hey, you royal pain in my ass!" Kanut yelled suddenly, and Prince Zuko’s gaze snapped towards them. “Take a break. Doctor's orders." 

The Prince scowled. “I’m not tired.” He snarled back, seemingly oblivious to the crew who had all stopped what they were doing to watch this odd exchange. 

“Proud of you. Didn't ask. Have a break, tough guy." Kanut responded, before looking back to Hakoda. Hakoda was staring, trying not to laugh. 

“What?" Kanut asked, as if that interaction had been perfectly normal. Hakoda looked back to the Prince. Sure enough, the boy angrily and loudly dropped the tools with a mumbled and overwhelmingly mature _‘whatever’_ , leaning back on his palms in a universally accepted relaxing stance, though even from here, Hakoda could see his bunched shoulders, jumping knuckles, gold eyes darting to Tulok every few seconds. Only Prince Zuko would relax in the most stubbornly unrelaxed way possible. 

Hakoda’s smile slowly fell. It was so easy to see this boy as a moody, temperamental, stubborn, but for all of that simply _young_ , naïve and innocent teenager. It was so easy for Hakoda to consider that maybe he was too young to have been influenced too heavily by his nation yet, maybe he wasn’t inherently evil just because of where he was born, maybe it is the voice of war to judge a citizen by the actions of their country. 

But Hakoda needed to remember who this kid was. He was the Fire Prince. He wasn't a citizen; he was a leader. He may have been young, but he had been apparently old enough by Fire Nation standards to lead a raid, and he had enough audacity to look Hakoda in the eye and _lie_ about what happened in the South Pole, in Hakoda’s _home._

Until they got to the South Pole and Hakoda could see for himself the extent of the damage committed by this boy, Hakoda would hold him in no redeeming light. Hakoda would keep him alive because he was the Chief, and Chiefs forfeit the right to act on emotion the moment they become responsible for the lives of their crew, but that was all Hakoda would give this boy. A life. It was more than what Kya got. It might have been more than what Katara and Sokka got. 

It was more than what the Fire Prince deserved. 

____ 

Chena was the crew’s best fighter. He was a heavyweight. not very agile, but when he _could_ land a hit, he made them count. If Zuko hadn’t managed to splutter out his name back on the Erlong, Chena would have killed him. 

Tomkin was the crew’s youngest warrior. He came across as docile and overly friendly to the point of stupidity. He missed when hunting, and had _apologised_ to a _prisoner_. He posed the least amount of threat. 

The rest of the crew stood on a spectrum between those two. Zuko had spent his hours on deck keeping one eye on his work and another on the Water Tribe, gaging their personalities, deciding who would be a problem and who wouldn’t be. 

Aput was another of the adults, well respected, and from what Zuko had observed when Aput reported back to the Chief, he was obedient to a fault. An obedient soldier with a tough commander lead to that soldier being tough himself. 

Kanut was the healer. He had been kept in the infirmary during the attack on the Erlong. He didn’t fight; it went against his nature. He read a lot, consuming all new information and Zuko’s slip ups regarding the Fire Nation – things Zuko had thought everyone knew, like what _chi_ was – with avid enthusiasm. He also made nice tea. 

Tomkin had said Nanook was only two years older than him, and Zuko gaged Tomkin to only be around seventeen years old. Nanook was easy going, like Tomkin, and joked around a lot, but there was an observation in his blue eyes that Tomkin lacked. Zuko felt like the warrior was clocking every move he made, but there was a suspicious lack of maliciousness in Nanook’s observatory skills. He hadn’t even commented on Zuko stealing his weird shirt, or reminded Zuko of the time he threw his soup. Zuko decided Nanook posed more threat than Tomkin, but he was hesitant to see the crewman in any particularly dangerous light. 

The last of the crewmen that Zuko had met so far was also Zuko’s least favourite, parallel only to Chena. Tulok was older and bigger than Zuko, and had a patient gaze, like nothing Zuko did could surprise him. He was constantly watching. Watching the waves, the skies, the crew, Zuko himself. Zuko had also seen him laugh with the Chief once or twice, suggesting a lack of Aput’s rigid obedience. Zuko needed to decide if that made Tulok more or less dangerous. What he did know, however, was that when Tulok got in a fight, he felt no empathy. Lee was young and so blatantly terrified, and still, Tulok hadn’t hesitated to throw that boomerang, slitting flesh with jarring precision. He was a very big threat. 

Zuko didn’t know how he could assess the rest of the crew, and the childish part of him didn’t really want to meet any more of these strange, large men. He had his mental notes on his biggest current threats. 

He knew enough about the crew; it was time to consider their captain. 

Chief Hakoda. Tall, broad, fierce, unforgiving. Since Zuko admitted to going south, the Chief had barely looked at him. This was a good thing, because the Chief posed a bigger threat than anybody else on this ship. Not only was it blindingly obvious that the Chief could and wanted to inflict pain upon Zuko, but he could also order his crew to do as he pleased. They must have feared him a lot. They looked at him like they’d sooner throw themselves overboard than defy him. Even Kanut did nothing when Chena dragged him to the Chief’s office. Zuko remembered all too well how it felt to have a hundred eyes watching, none willing to help. He remembered burning. And this Chief was the inferno fuelling his crew. Zuko had to avoid him with everything in him. Zuko had to appease him until the very last second. Zuko had to-. 

“Hey, Your Highness, you hungry?” Tomkin’s sudden voice made Zuko blink, snapping his head towards the Water Tribesman as he bounded across the deck to him, sitting clumsily. 

“It’s alright, Tomkin. Don't you worry about helping me carry things. You just go ahead and chat with your firebender friend while I do all the hard work.” Nanook said, carrying a range of plates just like yesterday, catching up with his friend and sitting down too. 

“You’re just so _strong_ , Nan.” Tomkin grinned. “I knew you could handle it.” 

Tomkin did not correct Nanook’s description of Zuko as Tomkin’s _‘firebender friend’_ , and Zuko wasn’t sure how to feel about that. These people were very strange. This wasn’t how you treated a prisoner. Then again, Zuko had never been held prisoner before. Maybe this was just how the Water Tribe did things. 

“It’s a bit early for lunch, isn’t it?” Zuko asked with a frown. Thinking back to yesterday, the two boys had come in at weird times then too. Too early and too late. 

Nanook shrugged. “We have two large meals a day, at sunup and sundown. We've had to alter that a bit to fit with where we are in the world, but we still snack in between because the work _most_ of us do is so strenuous.” He threw a loaded glance to Tomkin, who was too busy stuffing his face to notice. 

“When do you eat in the Fire Nation?” Tomkin asked curiously. Zuko felt the familiar urge to divert away from any conversation that involved him giving information on the Fire Nation, but the kind of questions Tomkin, Nanook and Kanut asked were always nonsensical. 

“We have three meals. Breakfast when we wake up, lunch at midday, dinner in the afternoon.” Zuko said, remembering the formality of palace meals, always sat far away from Father, always fending off Azula as she pinched and kicked him under the table. Then he remembered meals on the Erlong, the crew chatting around him, Uncle telling tea jokes that definitely were not funny. 

“No snacking?!” Tomkin asked, bewildered. 

Zuko scoffed. “No snacking.” 

Nanook turned to the sky, using his hand to shield his eyes as he squinted at the sun. “Why’d you say it wasn’t midday yet?” He asked, before pointing. “The sun’s practically centred.” 

Zuko looked to the sky as Nanook did, but instead of using his hands to block the sun’s rays, he extended them, palms facing towards him, one on top of the other. “Mainly a guess, but if you use your hands like this,” Zuko kept stacking his hands, counting in his head, “you can figure out exactly how many hours of sunlight are left, and you can see it’s another forty minutes until midday.” 

Zuko dropped his hands again, grabbing a strip of seal jerky, and when he looked up, he saw two pairs of wonderous blue eyes. 

“That’s so _cool_.” Tomkin exclaimed. “Nanook, why don’t we know that?” 

“Tulok probably does because he’s the navigator.” Nanook said, but he was unsure, like he didn’t quite know either. “I guess that’s just common knowledge in the Fire Nation.” 

“Before the hand trick,” Tomkin said, “did you say you _guessed_ the time?” 

“It’s more of a gut feeling.” Zuko said sheepishly, not liking how they were staring. “Firebenders draw power from the sun, so we naturally stay entuned with it, even if we don’t realise.” 

“The same as waterbenders with the moon.” Tomkin whispered, his energy suddenly seeping from him. Zuko wondered in horror if he’d said something he shouldn’t have, before reminding himself that he shouldn’t care if he’d upset his captors. Despite that, he still didn’t like Tomkin’s change in mood, and looked to Nanook almost in a panic. Nanook shook his head ever so slightly, a poorly hidden melancholy in his eyes. 

“The hand trick isn’t a Fire Nation thing.” Zuko said suddenly, if only to fill the silence. “I learnt it on the Erlong. It's a sailor’s trick.” 

Tomkin smiled weakly, before blinking and forcing himself to light up again. It was almost believable, but Zuko had spent the past few hours observing the Water Tribesmen, and he saw the smile that didn’t quite reach Tomkin’s eyes. 

"A Prince who knows sailor’s tricks,” he laughed, “how humble of you, Your Highness.” 

Zuko scowled, crossing his arms and instantly regretting it when his shoulder blades pulled at his stitches. 

“He’s just mad that you know more than him.” Nanook said with a grin. 

“Nanook here thinks he’s brighter than the Aurora.” Tomkin said conspiringly. 

“What’s the Aurora?” Zuko asked, and the question made Tomkin’s true smile return. 

“In the South Pole,” he said, “the Spirits ignite the sky in winter, to remind us to be strong and fight through the cold. It's like an entire rainbow, dancing through the stars.” 

That sounded fake, but the glint in Tomkin’s eyes was hard to ignore. 

“A... rainbow? In the stars?” Zuko asked incredulously. Nanook snorted, like Zuko’s confusion was funny. Was he mocking him? 

“I’ve never thought about it from a foreigner’s perspective, but I guess it does sound ridiculous.” Nanook said in place of anything mocking. 

“Maybe if you don’t go off colonising and committing mass murders, I'll show you one day.” Tomkin said far too breezily, tapping Zuko’s foot and making Nanook shoot him a look. Zuko didn’t know why, but the idea of Tomkin willingly showing him a part of his home was almost... sweet. 

“I do not _colonise_ , or commit mass murders.” Zuko growled with a glare, pulling his foot away. 

“Maybe you don’t, but the Fire Nation do.” Nanook said. 

That was just a lie. The Fire Nation was the greatest empire in the world. Instead of watching the other three nations suffer in their regression, the Fire Nation had instead spread their wealth and knowledge, taking in thousands of citizens who were lost without their skill. Some minorities like the Southern Water Tribe were too set in their nomadic ways to see the excellency of the Fire Nation, leading to violence between the two nations. How did that make the Fire Nation the _villain_? 

But Zuko knew that he couldn’t say that to these men without angering them. He couldn’t cause a scene on deck, and besides, it helped him more if Tomkin and Nanook _weren’t_ out to get him. 

Tulok and Aput soon returned, and Tomkin and Nanook reluctantly left to do their own chores. Zuko spent the rest of the day swabbing the entire deck. Twice. It killed his back, and the two older men still jeered at him to take breaks that he refused, and Tulok _still stared_ , but there was an upside. By being on deck, Zuko had a good view of his new escape plan. Rigged to either side of the ship were two lifeboats. If Zuko could sneak out, using the darkness as a cover, and get himself in one of those lifeboats, then he had a chance to row himself back to the Earth Kingdom. He could find Uncle, he could get _away_ , he could-. 

“Prince Zuko.” 

The Chief’s cold voice sounded calmly and Zuko jumped back reflexively, looking up to see the Chief stood on the deck before him, the sun setting behind his looming form. 

“I want to see you in my cabin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hakoda PLEASE be nicer to the Fire Brat he doesn't UNDERSTAND. Nanook let Tomkin fraternise in peace. Kanut... never change <3


	5. i. Accidental Mutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey nerds! This chapter is... a confusing one for me. so to put simply: I haven’t stfu about how much you guys should read Salvage by MuffinLance like it’s just *chef’s kiss* and this fic – as we’ve established – wouldn't exist without it. I am the FIRST to admit that a lot of this (not so much from now on but definitely the earlier chapters) is inspired heavily if not directly from Salvage. But ONE THING THAT BUGS ME IS THAT IN THIS CHAPTER THERE IS A CERTAIN THING THAT IS SIMILAR TO A CERTAIN THING IN SALVAGE THAT IS ENTIRELY! COINCIDENTAL! Like the first draft of this fic saw this scene happen VERY early on like I think chapter 1? And I wrote it initially, then went off and read more of salvage and realised... muffinlance beat me to it. but i love the scene too much to cut it so like?!?! Fuck my life. The moral of the story is not everything I do is unoriginal and you should read salvage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: What the fuck is up I'm back with another chapter and this mf has over THREE THOUSAND HITS. The way that my monkey brain can’t even comprehend that? And the comments... the COMMENTS. Saying that, you guys could comment the entire lyrics to super bass and I'd still probably respond ‘go on you magnificent beast’ while tearing up and chugging vodka from the bottle, justgirlythings. My beach day was lovely I especially loved the part when the sun refused to shine even a little bit. (Btw where I’m at we’re allowed to go to the beach like it doesn’t break any corona rules at all, thought I should clarify cause I don’t want you guys thinking I'm one of those dickheads.) 
> 
> After this chapter, influence from our lord and saviour muffinlance goes almost entirely, and it gets very... southern ;). it’s all me and my stupid brain writing stupid things from here on out, I hope you’re prepared x 
> 
> As usual, have a nice day shitheads and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

General Fong’s letter arrived just before sunset; the fastest the Earth Kingdom General had ever bothered responding to Hakoda. His handwriting was fancy enough for Hakoda to struggle reading it, wishing Bato were here. They'd learnt penmanship together during their time at sea, aided mainly by the always smarter Kanut. Hakoda was good at tactics and planning, but when it came to ink and paper, Bato's skills shone through. 

In the letter, General Fong didn’t even try to hide his excitement at the capture of the Fire Prince, stating the possibilities they could exploit together. The Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom were a _‘they’_ again. The General happily agreed to meet at Weihai, eager to take the Crown Prince off Hakoda’s hands. Abridged; the Earth Kingdom were accepting this peace offering. 

General Fong also wrote an entire paragraph explaining how up to the task their ship’s brig was, and that gave Hakoda an idea. It wasn’t an idea he liked very much, though he tried to convince himself to warm to it, but it was a necessary idea. Hakoda needed to ensure Prince Zuko wasn’t going to escape again. Every time he escaped, the Prince hurt one of Hakoda’s crew, and being constantly on edge distracted them. Hakoda had said what would happen to Prince Zuko if he tried escaping again, but the determination in the kid’s eyes was still gleaming. Hakoda could tell the Fire Prince would try something else soon. He needed to discourage all plans the boy had, once and for all. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Prince Zuko growled, crossing his arms behind his back, rooting his stance as he stood before Hakoda’s desk. He refused to sit down. Hakoda could already feel a headache coming. Did the Prince have to be such a child about _everything?_

“I did the chores you told me to. I only stopped when Kanut made me. I wasn’t even talking to Tomkin and Nanook that long and anyway they came over to me. I swabbed the deck _twice_. I didn’t break any rules-." 

“You aren’t in trouble, Prince Zuko.” Hakoda said, massaging his temple. “Please, sit down.” 

The Prince stared in surprise, before his gold eyes flicked to the letter in front of Hakoda. He'd turned it over, but Hakoda should have known a Prince would recognise an Earth Kingdom seal when he saw one. 

Slowly, rigidly, Prince Zuko sat down. Even when he drew himself up as tall as he could, his head didn’t pass the back of the chair. 

“Prince Zuko, I have made an agreement with an Earth Kingdom General. We will rendezvous with them soon and you will be passed over to their care.” Hakoda said, and the kid just stared. Why wouldn’t he? There was no reason for Hakoda to tell him this. If anything, Hakoda telling him this would only cause more damage. Prisoners should be kept as in the dark as possible. But this prisoner was unique. 

“When?” The Prince whispered, shoving his hands under his legs. 

“Three weeks. First, we will travel south. I will see for myself what you and your men did in the South Pole. I'm warning you now, son, if you’ve lied to me-.” 

“I didn’t lie.” There was none of the Prince’s usual venom in his tone. He spoke quietly, staring at the floor. He seemed... exhausted. 

Silence settled. Hakoda knew what he had to say, and he knew he had to speak cruelly for the words to be effective. Hakoda knew this was what was best for his crew. 

But why had the kid suddenly stopped fighting him? 

____ 

How on Agni had Zuko forgotten about the Earth Kingdom? 

He'd thought, or blindly hoped, that he’d misheard. Blood loss and terror had made his first few hours with the Water Tribe blurry to say the least. He wanted to believe he was wrong, that they weren’t sending him away, but he had heard correctly. The Earth Kingdom were coming for him. He had three weeks. 

And he felt stupid because he felt _betrayed_. 

Zuko wondered distantly if the Chief had purposely worded this in a way that tempered Zuko. Usually, Zuko would be enraged right now. The South Pole was as far away from the North Pole as possible, and the North Pole was where the Avatar was, where Zuko needed to be. But it was hard to be too upset about that now the Earth Kingdom were involved. For once, the Avatar could wait. The Chief had made it so Zuko was almost happy to be going south first. It bought him time... 

“They’re going to crush my hands.” Zuko muttered. 

He didn’t know why he said that. It was a statement now, no longer a possibility or an _if I get caught_ scenario. It had become a certain outcome. 

“Listen, kid,” the Chief said, and Zuko couldn’t even look up, “these guys don’t mess about. You've had it very easy here, and you need to understand that. There is no love lost between my kind and yours, ashmaker, but the same can be said for the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. If you misspeak, misbehave, or so much as look at them wrong,” the Chief paused, taking in a small breath, “then they won’t hesitate to break you.” 

“They have a cooler in their brig.” The Chief continued. “General Fong says one of his men was held prisoner in the Fire Nation a few years ago and came back with some of their designs. It's state of the art, designed to reduce a firebender’s body temperature to just above a fatal level.” 

Zuko wasn’t sure when he stopped breathing, but it was sometime around _‘they won’t hesitate to break you’._ At the mention of the coolers that he knew must have been replicas of the ones in the Boiling Rock prison, Zuko felt his entire body seize up. A firebender frozen in a tiny space. No sunlight. No warmth. No bending. The picture of vulnerability. 

“The prison you’re talking about is the Boiling Rock. They make their cells from metal, so if a prisoner firebends, it heats up and burns them.” Zuko said. He was eerily calm. He always turned eerily calm when he felt like this. Calm was a predecessor, like shock making your body freeze when being plunged into icy water. 

The Chief was staring at Zuko when he finally summoned enough courage to look up. For a millisecond, there was something soft in his blue eyes, but it vanished and Zuko knew he must have imagined it. 

“How do you know all that?” The Chief asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Zuko swallowed. “Because it’s my father’s design.” 

It seemed oddly fitting. 

____ 

How fitting, that the Fire Lord’s son would be subject to his own sick designs. How fitting, and how completely barbaric. Hakoda was barely keeping the growl of indignance from his words. Truth be told, even with knowing this boy was the Fire Prince, even with knowing this boy had been south, Hakoda hated tormenting him like this. Fear had never been Hakoda’s way. Not with parenting, not with leading, and not with prisoners. He preferred compromise; finding common ground. 

But the escape attempts had to stop, and Prince Zuko had refused all compromises Hakoda had tried. But there was something else to it now. Hakoda hadn’t realised until he started talking, but he was telling Prince Zuko about the Earth Kingdom for another reason. 

To warn him. 

“Well, if you behave, they’ll sort out something with your father, and then you might just make it home without them having to lay a hand on you-.” 

“ _What?_ ” The Prince hissed, though it sounded like more of a gasp, and to Hakoda’s shock, the kid was paralysed in horror. He sat like the chair was burning him, his gold eyes wide and shamelessly frightened. 

“My father can’t know about this.” He said desperately. “He can’t. It would shame him. If they need to bargain, they can do it with Uncle. He'll give them anything they want. He can-.” 

“Prince Zuko, a month or two away from home won’t have estranged you from your father that much. He's probably worried sick about you. So long as he complies with General Fong’s requests-.” 

“No!” The boy cried out, jumping to his feet fast enough to send his chair scattering backwards. He was breathing too quickly. “No, you don’t _understand_. It hasn’t been a month or two. I can't go home until I get the Avatar. Why can’t you understand that?” 

The Prince was rambling and Hakoda didn’t know what was happening, but he knew there was a lot more to this than he’d assumed. A son getting this worked up at even the mention of their father insinuated some chilling conclusions, conclusions that Hakoda didn’t want to be true no matter how much he hated the Fire Lord and how much he _tried_ to hate the Fire Prince, conclusions that, regardless of that, would explain a lot of said Fire Prince’s behaviour. 

“Prince Zuko, how long exactly have you been away from home?” Hakoda asked, keeping his voice calm. 

The Prince swallowed, twisting something in his pocket. “It was my fault.” 

_“How long?”_

The kid’s voice was a terrified rasp. “Three years.” 

____ 

Father would know Zuko had been captured. Father would know Zuko had failed his mission. Father would know about all of the weak decisions Zuko had made assuming Father would never find out. Father would know that his son’s years away from home, years supposed to teach him, had left him as cowardly and honourless as ever. 

Father would never accept him back after this. 

“But... But why... how could...” The Chief stuttered before Zuko, and Zuko’s terror froze for a second as shock coursed through him. Not only had Zuko seemingly caught the Chief off guard, but the Chief wasn’t even trying to mask his confusion. 

“What exactly did you do to get sent away?” The Chief asked, and Zuko shook his head. 

What _didn’t_ he do? He spoke out of turn, he disrespected Father, he was weak, he was stupid, he was cowardly. He deserved it. Father was merciful in giving him his life. A life; that was all Zuko had earned. 

And Zuko didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t think he could say those words again without them twisting his mouth like glass, the memory of blood on his lips. 

“You can’t tell him.” Zuko whispered. 

And that was when the Chief stood. 

The Chief was not the Fire Lord. Zuko just hadn’t felt this vulnerable, this utterly defenceless, since he lived with his father in Caldera. The emotions got tangled in his mind and convinced him they were the same, but the Chief was not the Fire Lord. 

So why did that not reassure Zuko? How were the glacier-blue eyes of Chief Hakoda as familiar as the burning gold of Fire Lord Ozai? 

Because no matter what Zuko said, the Chief didn’t listen. Every word was another stick of kindling and Zuko was building his own pyre. He always did. Mother used to beg Zuko to talk less, because his panic would make him ramble and Father _hated_ rambling, but Zuko just couldn’t stop. And it was happening again, because when Zuko spoke to the Chief, he knew that the moment the silence settled, something awful would happen. 

“No! Get away from me. I did nothing wrong. I did what you said! Father _can’t_ know.” Zuko yelled, backing away from the Chief. The Chief raised his hands – was he going to strike out? - but when he spoke, his voice was the softest Zuko had ever heard it. To form a false sense of security? To lure Zuko in? 

“Prince Zuko, I need you to breathe for me.” 

The Chief took another step, then another. He was about to reach Zuko, and when he did, Zuko didn’t know what would happen. The frozen shock of the icy waters was giving way to drowning. 

Zuko was having a panic attack. 

And all Zuko knew was that he couldn’t let this man touch him. 

____ 

Hakoda didn’t know what he was doing, but looking at Prince Zuko didn’t stir up his rage and heartbreak anymore. Anytime those feelings tried to surface, they were drowned out by a whispered _three years._

How old had this kid been when he was sent away from home? How scared must he have felt? How _lost?_

Hakoda was a father, just like the Fire Lord, so part of his mind tried to make sense of this. Surely, Prince Zuko had done something terrible to warrant such a punishment? But in Hakoda being a father, he knew that, no matter what the Prince had done, no child deserves such a cruel punishment. 

So instead of anger and contempt, when Hakoda looked at this boy, he felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time – two years to be exact – that made him want to reach out. A warmth fuelled by protectiveness and compassion. Hakoda wondered if he’d had that warmth before Sokka and Katara came along. Hakoda wondered if he’d ever felt it for someone else’s kid before, then he remembered Tomkin’s wide eyes when he first joined the Ullaakut. Sixteen years old and no one in the tribe able to fight for him to stay. There had been nothing Hakoda could do, so he kept Tomkin close. When the older crewmen teased the sensitive boy, Hakoda stopped it. When Tomkin woke up crying for his parents, Hakoda sat with him until sunrise. This warmth was something that could transcend borders, blood, lifetimes. And stood before Hakoda now was this kid that was not his that had never felt this warmth, only burning. And with that, nationality and past and future fell away. Hakoda wasn’t a Chief and Zuko wasn’t a Prince. 

They were just a father and son. 

“Easy, kid.” Hakoda said slowly, taking another step towards the hyperventilating teenager. “Breathe.” 

He reached out a hand, and it was at exactly this moment that the Fire Prince snapped himself out of his state and promptly bolted out of the unguarded door. 

____ 

Zuko couldn’t go downstairs because that would further trap him and he couldn’t go to the infirmary because that was where they locked him in even though that was where the tea was which was possibly the only thing that might tether him right now, and he couldn’t go on deck because he didn’t know if the crew had gone to bed yet and even if they had Zuko now knew that the Water Tribe had a night watch. But if he couldn’t get on deck, then how could he get to the life boat? 

He didn’t care if sailing in the darkness alone with no supplies was unwise. He cared only to get away from _him_. He would be so angry when he caught him. Father hated when Zuko flinched, ducked, ran, or did anything to try and evade the consequences of his own actions. The Chief wasn’t Father, but Zuko realised then that, despite the war, nationality truly didn’t matter. A Water Tribesman’s fist bruises just as blue as a Fire Nation’s. The Chief had already tried to grab him... 

And he was quick. Zuko could hear the heavy footfalls of Chief Hakoda as he stormed after him. Zuko didn’t make a decision; he bolted like a terrified turtleduck swimming away from rocks being thrown. The lack of decision soon came back to bite him, because he wound up on deck, and sure enough, while most of the crew seemed to have gone to bed, Tulok stared back at him from his right, boomerang strapped to his belt. 

Zuko felt sick and shaky and no matter how hard he tried to breathe, his lungs never filled. The lifeboats were too far. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to go, and Tulok was there with Lee’s death in his eyes. Nowhere to go, and the Chief was gaining on him with every second he wasted. Nowhere to go, and the moon sat on the horizon directly before the ship, almost resting on the bowsprit and igniting the waters around them into something that _shone._

The Chief exploded onto the deck and Tulok lunged, but Zuko had always been quick. 

____ 

The Prince of the Fire Nation was balanced on the bowsprit. A firebender had placed himself atop the length of wood that the forestays attached to, creating a direct line to the very flammable, very necessary-for-survival-out-at-sea sails. One spark, even a stray, could send the sails up in flames. This boy could sink the Ullaakut by _accident_. Worse still, the bowsprit was just a thin spar at the bow of the ship, pointing out to the endless ocean. If the kid fell, or jumped in his own panic, then the waves would take him, the Ullaakut slicing through him. 

And now, Hakoda had told him all of the horrors that he would face soon. What reason did Prince Zuko have not to raze the ship to the ocean floor, aside his own personal survival that he’d never seemed to care for much, hence him thinking balancing on the bowsprit was a good idea in the first place? 

“Prince Zuko,” Hakoda tried carefully, taking a few steps across the deck so he was within two metres of the kid, freezing when his advance saw the Fire Prince back up an inch, “you’re going to fall. Get back on the deck.” 

“No.” The boy hissed stubbornly, but Hakoda heard a tension he’d never bothered to listen for before. The kid was terrified. 

“If he falls, we can fish him out pretty easily.” Tulok pointed out, only half joking. 

"That’s if he doesn’t drown or whack his head on the hull.” Hakoda hissed, and Tulok quickly shut up. 

“Prince Zuko,” Hakoda tried again, “if you won’t come over here, I'll come over there.” 

Tulok hid his snicker. Badly. It earnt him a slap to the head from Hakoda, before Hakoda cautiously approached the bowsprit. When the kid just stared at him with wide eyes, easing himself to a sitting position, legs dangling metres above the churning sea, Hakoda took that as the only form of invitation he would get. With a deep breath, he climbed up, balancing on the thin wood. 

“Need me to wake the others?” Tulok asked. Hakoda thought a moment, but Prince Zuko was panicked enough. 

“No, let them be, but fill some buckets.” Hakoda ordered, and Tulok nodded. They both seemed to know that there weren’t enough buckets of water in the world that could stop a firebender hellbent on an inferno. 

“None of us will judge you for shoving him off, Chief.” Tulok said with a grin. 

Hakoda wobbled against a sharp gust of wind. “Just get the damn buckets." 

____ 

Zuko watched with narrowed eyes as the Chief carefully shuffled along the bowsprit. Zuko scooted as far back as he could without tumbling into the ocean. Aside that, what else could he do? He'd cornered himself like an idiot. 

At least out here the air didn’t burn his throat. He could gulp down enough to fill his lungs, slowly getting his heartrate back to a normal pace. That was until the Chief slowly eased himself to straddle the bowsprit, gripping the wood tight and blocking off any opportunity Zuko could have taken to get back to the safety of the ship. It truly was an incredible showing of idiocy that Zuko had created a situation in that the _Water Tribe ship_ was safe. 

“This wasn’t very smart, was it?” The Chief finally said. Zuko never took his eyes off the man, but around him the ocean churned. If he fell, he would die, and if the Chief pushed him, he would fall. He hadn’t got a leg to stand on. 

Zuko was out of time. He knew that. He'd known in the Agni Kai all those years ago, as he begged and cried, as he insisted he wouldn’t fight Father. There had been a moment, right before he looked up, when he’d known that there was no more he could do. He felt that hopelessness again now, as he watched the Chief’s calm expression, blue eyes trained on the sea. He opened his mouth, about to charge Zuko, about to _damn_ him, and said-. 

“How old are you, Prince Zuko?” 

That... was not what Zuko expected him to say. Zuko couldn’t find the trick. What was he missing? How was he supposed to answer? 

“Sixteen.” Zuko said deliberately. 

“And how old were you when you were sent away?” 

Zuko worked his jaw. He didn’t like talking about that, much less with this man. “Thirteen.” He said through gritted teeth. “I was banished at thirteen.” 

And when Zuko said _banished_ , the Chief actually flinched. What was Zuko _missing_ here? 

“That’s how old my son was,” the Chief said, “when I left him in the South Pole.” 

The pain in his voice was so blatant, so unmasked, sorrow furrowing his brows and making his hands clench into fists atop the bowsprit. And Zuko couldn’t breathe again, because this Chief was a father. Things seemed worse. Fathers learnt a different type of coldness than others. They had to be cold to yield strong children. This man knew how to look desperation in the eye and disregard it. Zuko didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet. If he started talking, he wouldn’t stop. 

“When you went south,” the Chief finally looked to Zuko, and his icy eyes seemed to be melting, “did you see two kids? They’ll be fourteen and fifteen now, a girl and a boy?” 

That was a coincidence. The two Water Tribe kids travelling with the Avatar fit that description, but it was a pretty vague description. Admittedly, they were the only teenagers in the South Pole that Zuko had seen, but he hadn’t stayed long. 

“What do they look like?” Zuko asked quietly. Maybe if he helped the Chief then he’d leave him alone, or show mercy. It wasn’t like Zuko was giving information on the Fire Nation. This conversation was different to any he’d had on this ship. 

The Chief ghosted a smile. “Well, the girl has long brown hair, and eyes like butter wouldn’t melt. She wears beads in her hair.” His smile solidified. “And the boy thinks he can take on the world with his own two hands. Warrior’s wolf tail hairstyle, sarcastic – ringing any bells?” 

It was actually. Zuko remembered a boy stood before his village, willing to take on an entire Fire Nation ship with no bending, no training, and a single spear that looked like it was made three centuries ago. Zuko remembered a waterbender with wide eyes the colour of the very ocean she wielded, hair pulled from her face by beads so she could focus. But those ocean eyes... there was nothing sweet in them. _Butter_ was too soft an analogy for the waterbender. She had been weathered into something strong. 

They were the Chief’s _kids._

This was bad. Zuko needed to lie and say he didn’t know them, but Zuko was a terrible liar. Could he tell the truth? Could he tell this man that he had actively placed his children in danger? Was the Chief the kind of father who would _care?_ Would he even believe anything Zuko said? 

Zuko took a deep breath and began to explain. 

____ 

Hakoda stared at the stars and the stars stared right back, watching him purposely breathe in and out, in and out, in and out. His mind was whirring away as he desperately processed what he’d just heard. Him and the Prince had been sat precariously on the bowsprit for some time now as Prince Zuko laid out the events of the past month. 

He had been searching for the Avatar – a statement Hakoda was still struggling to believe – and his search led him south. While there, a beam of light struck the sky, and the Prince followed it with the help of his uncle. It took him straight to Hakoda’s village. Prince Zuko insisted he only scared the villagers into giving him the Avatar, that he didn’t hurt anyone, let alone kill them. But even looking at the kid as a gold-eyed teenager not a gold-eyed Fire Prince, Hakoda couldn’t help but grit his teeth and pray. 

Apparently, Prince Zuko captured the Avatar, and Hakoda had thought that would be everything. He thought wrong. Because who else boarded a Fire Navy ship with no back up aside their own sheer willpower than _Sokka and Katara_. Again, the Prince insisted he didn’t hurt anyone, but it seemed this time, it wasn’t through lack of trying. Hakoda had seen Prince Zuko fight – fighting on his own ship’s deck, fighting Chena, Tulok, even darting past Hakoda more than once – so he knew that, if he wanted to, this boy could have stopped his children without a second thought. Hakoda just couldn’t believe a Fire Nation soldier would ignore that possibility. Mercy does not come naturally to those from a merciless nation. 

Then it got worse. They went to Kyoshi Island. Prince Zuko admitted – somewhat sheepishly - that he almost burnt an entire village to the ground, but ‘it wasn’t my fault because they were harbouring the Avatar and if they’d just _give_ him me then maybe everyone’s odds of being set on fire would lower considerably.’ The Avatar evaded him again, and so did Sokka and Katara. 

“Then there was that whole revolt from the Earth Kingdom on that prison ship.” Prince Zuko was now saying, wringing his hands. 

“Did you say _prison ship?_ ” Hakoda asked with a groan. He would be having a very long talk with his kids when he saw them again. _If_ he saw them again. 

“I’m pretty sure your daughter got herself arrested on purpose. Then she started a riot and all these Earth Kingdom prisoners escaped-.” 

“You tried to stop them?” 

“What? No.” Prince Zuko said like that was a stupid conclusion to come to. “Their freedom is no business of mine. I just want the Avatar.” 

Hakoda had noticed this a lot in Prince Zuko’s stories. The Prince never did it on purpose, and blatantly didn’t realise he was doing it even at the time these events took place, but every opportunity for violence that a normal Fire Nation soldier would seize, this boy didn’t even consider. It gave Hakoda hope that maybe... just maybe... everyone he loved was still okay. 

“What happened next?” Hakoda asked patiently, because the kid seemed to be responding well to that and had even stopped breathing so fitfully. 

“Well, the girl dropped her necklace and I used it to track her. I was only using her to lure in the Avatar, I wasn’t actually going to hurt her-.” 

Katara’s necklace, the one she took from her own mother’s cold neck when she and Hakoda ran into their tent, ran too _slow_ , got there too _late_. Hakoda glared. “What did you do?” 

The Prince stared for a moment, swallowing nervously before blurting out, in mumbled incoherence; “Itiedhertoatree.” 

Hakoda frowned, straining to hear. “ _What?_ ” 

“I tied her to a tree, okay?! But it wasn’t even for long, because then the pirates betrayed me and ruined everything-.” 

“ _Pirates?_ ” 

“Yes. Anyway, then there was the whole thing with the nuns and their stupid perfume and that idiot shirshu. I didn’t think I'd catch up again until I heard Zhao saying-.” 

The Prince abruptly cut himself off, eyes widening by a fraction. Hakoda honed in on this. Throughout his rough storytelling, one thing the Prince hadn’t done was gloss. He never glossed over the things he’d supposedly done, even when admitting things like ‘I tied her to a tree’. Things he so easily could have left out, but didn’t. So why was he holding back now? 

“Admiral Zhao, right? The one you don’t like? What did he say?” Hakoda asked, but in a bizarre turn of events, the Prince had completely shut himself off. He was unreadable. No anger, no impatience, no indignance. Just... emotionless. 

“We heard word that the Avatar had been captured and was being held in the Pohuai Stronghold.” Prince Zuko said. “We went there, but didn’t even make port before finding out someone going by the name of the Blue Spirit had freed him, and that he was now heading to the Northern Water Tribe to master waterbending. That’s where I should be right now, but instead you and your men tried to _kill_ me-.” 

“Okay, Your Majesty, I get the gist.” Hakoda interrupted, almost grateful that the little brat’s snappiness had returned. The string of events that Prince Zuko had laid out were outlandish. The kind of outlandish that was difficult to make up on the spot. Was the Prince so good at manipulation that he could lie this well? Was this all a joke to him? Believing a Fire Nation soldier was lying under pressure was much easier to believe than pirates and prison ships and air bison. 

Settling on that conclusion made Hakoda sorely tempted to do as Tulok suggested and push the Fire Prince into the sea, but that was his temper talking. Hakoda had always been quick to emotion, that’s what his mother said. It had taken decades of conditioning and patience to make him a worthy leader, and worthy leaders don’t give into their own anger. Even though the Fire Prince said he'd seen Sokka and Katara. For his own wellbeing, Hakoda had to believe that was a lie, twisted and formed to hurt Hakoda. He had brought up his kids first, after all. Maybe he put this idea in Prince Zuko’s head? 

It didn’t matter. Hakoda would stay calm with this boy. The last time he let his control slip, the kid had almost had a breakdown and ran onto the bowsprit. If Hakoda had said anything wrong while out here, then the Fire Prince could have sunk the Ullaakut, or accidentally drowned himself, or both. Hakoda wouldn’t make a mistake like this again. He knew this was his fault. He accepted that. 

“Prince Zuko, will you come back to the ship now?" Hakoda asked slowly. 

The Prince’s eyes flashed, his defensiveness returning as he pushed himself as far from Hakoda as possible, making him stumble slightly and almost fall sideways into the sea. 

“No. You're going to tell Father... and you’ll send me to the Earth Kingdom, or you’ll break my legs or cut off my hands or-.” 

Spirits, he was panicking again. 

“Hey now,” Hakoda tried, “how about we negotiate?” 

That shut him up. 

____ 

Negotiate? _Negotiate?_

Zuko had told the Chief all of that because he had no other choice. He didn't know what the Chief would do to him if Zuko didn’t cooperate, so he finally gave in after days of fighting the Water Tribe crew. He was weak. He broke so easily. He always broke so easily. But he’d been so blindly terrified when he climbed out here. He wasn’t thinking clearly. 

He had never considered he’d get something in return. 

“Negotiate how?” Zuko asked carefully, certain this was a trick. 

The Chief shrugged his big shoulders, but Zuko could tell this was costing him more than he was letting on. “I’ll make you a deal.” 

Zuko didn’t like deals. Azula was very good with deals. Her deals always left him with the short straw, and he’d only realise when he’d already agreed. 

“If you come down now and go to bed,” the Chief said, blue eyes hard, “then I promise I’ll have General Fong agree to treat you fairly. I can’t ensure he’ll avoid contact with the Fire Lord, but I can offer you fair treatment. No coolers.” 

Zuko swallowed his temptation. He’d known immediately that there was no way he could be held hostage without his father being part of the communication. He knew, and that’s why he was so terrified. What the Chief was offering now was all that the Chief _could_ offer. If he had tried to promise Zuko his safety, or synonymously, his father’s ignorance, then Zuko would have known it was a lie told to lure him back to the deck. But the Chief didn’t say that. He offered the bare minimum, because it was truthfully all he had. Why did Zuko feel so inclined to accept his promise? A promise; the currency of _children?_

Because he had no other choice. 

“And your crew?” Zuko asked quietly. 

“My crew will not hurt you." 

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “Will you?” 

The Chief matched his glare. “Like I said before; only if you force my hand. I am not a violent man, Prince Zuko.” 

But he was a father and a leader. He couldn’t do his job without violence, right? But what choice did Zuko have? He didn’t trust this man, but if the Chief wanted him dead, he would have killed him by now. Zuko had to believe that as of right now, he wouldn’t be harmed. He couldn’t stay out here forever, and the Chief seemed pretty set on getting Zuko to the Earth Kingdom. Zuko doubted General Fong could barter much with a dead body. 

“I’m not going first.” Zuko finally grumbled, and the Chief turned to hide a small smile, before his large form slowly, painfully slowly, got to his feet and edged off the bowsprit. He didn’t even hide his sigh of relief when his feet touched the sturdy deck, blue eyes turning expectantly to Zuko. 

Zuko swallowed. Now it was his turn. He still had a choice of course. The icy ocean that would drag his useless body into its depths, or the Chief of the Water Tribe? At least there was a certainty with drowning; Zuko didn’t know what Chief Hakoda would do to him. But he’d played enough pai sho with Uncle to know about probabilities, and he knew likely death wasn’t as bad as certain death. 

Steadily and with more elegance than the Chief, Zuko got to his feet, balancing on the thin wood. Beneath him, nothing but ocean. 

He hadn’t even realised his hand had reached his pocket, curiously searching for his white lotus tile. It was probably because of the sudden thought of pai sho, or perhaps the dangerous situation he found himself in. 

Either way, he was holding it when the wind picked up. The breeze that had previously combed through his hair and cooled his sweating skin now slammed against him like a barrage, and suddenly, Zuko stumbled. It was his reflexes that saved him, hands shooting out at lightning-speed and grasping the forestay to keep him up. He barely had time to choke out a cry of relief at the near miss when he saw something small and brown flying from him. 

He’d flung his hands from his pockets so quick that he’d thrown his pai sho tile. Zuko didn’t think much after that, if at all. He simply saw the white lotus flower spinning away from him and knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t lose it. It was all he had left of Uncle, of the Erlong, of Lee. 

The bowsprit was no longer beneath his feet as his hands wrapped around the small tile, and Zuko was falling. 

____ 

Hakoda had watched the kid get to his feet with militaristic grace, watched him stumble, watched him drop something small in his haste to recover. Hakoda hadn’t been worried. The Prince had simply lost his footing a little, but had righted himself almost instantly. 

Hakoda hadn’t been worried until Prince Zuko’s gold eyes locked on the object he’d dropped, and then the Fire Prince promptly hurled himself off the Ullaakut. 

“Zuko!” Hakoda yelled, formalities forgotten as he lunged. He managed to wrap his arms around the kid’s torso, yanking him back against the hull, hard. Hakoda himself was dangling halfway over the rail before Tulok had the mind to grab him by handfuls of his coat. Slowly and with his heart thundering at a painful speed, Hakoda managed to drag Prince Zuko over the rail, the two of them collapsing once they were both on the safety of the deck. 

“By the Spirits, what on Tui and La just happened?!” Tulok was yelling, but Hakoda just rolled over to watch the Prince, panting with adrenaline. The kid was failing to hide a wince, still far too injured to be thrown against the deck like that, and the pain had winded him, leaving him to suck in small, desperate breaths. 

Clutched in his hands tight enough to be some arcane treasure was a simple game tile. 

Hakoda wanted to yell at how dangerous that was, wanted to scream at this idiot that he was seconds away from drowning or being crushed by the ship, but at the sight of the Fire Prince looking so shocked, so fragile, Hakoda remembered his decision to stay calm. The kid responded to calm. Anger had made him flee to the bowsprit last time, and Hakoda was far too shaken to deal with that again. 

“You alright, son?” Hakoda finally asked. 

“I’m not your son.” The Prince growled, but the malice of it was lost in the smallness of his tone as he clumsily got to his feet and stormed below deck. 

Whatever had just come over him, it had shaken Prince Zuko as much as it had shaken Hakoda. 

For a few more seconds, Hakoda sat there, getting his breath back and actively ignoring Tulok’s questions. He wasn’t in the right headspace to talk to anyone right now. 

The kid had almost died, almost sorted out Hakoda’s tribulations in a morally acceptable manner, and Hakoda had _saved_ his sorry ass. As a Chief, it was a lucky call. Losing Prince Zuko meant losing General Fong, which Hakoda’s crew couldn’t afford. But as a Southern Water Tribesman who knew damn well what the Fire Nation did up south, as a warrior who had seen the suffering caused by the ashmakers, as a father whose kids had apparently been plagued by this teenager, why hadn’t he just let the Prince fall to his death? 

Deep down, Hakoda knew the answer lay in his own personality. He was not that kind of man, and he never wanted to be. That didn’t mean his spiteful side was ready for that to be illuminated so soon. 

____ 

Kanut waited in the infirmary. He'd watched the Chief go over to the Fire Brat on deck, inviting him to his cabin, and Kanut hadn’t seen Prince Zuko since. He’d only heard footsteps down the corridor and some voices up on deck. If anyone else was with the kid, Kanut would reluctantly be nervous. He’d grown an annoying attachment to the little royal. He saw too much of himself in him, and he’d been a healer too long not to notice the scars all the other crewmen missed. 

Luckily, the kid was with Hakoda. Kanut knew Prince Zuko didn’t like Hakoda, and he also had a sneaking suspicion as to why that he really didn’t want to be right about, but Kanut trusted the Chief. He trusted him to say and do the right things. After all, Hakoda had known what to say and do back when him and Kanut were young. 

After what seemed like hours, Kanut heard the familiar not-heavy-enough-to-be-Water-Tribe-but-angry-enough-to-be-Fire-Nation footfalls echoing through the corridor, and sure enough, Prince Zuko soon emerged. He looked as surly as ever, but even though he tried to hide it, Kanut could see he looked a little shellshocked. Kanut wondered what Hakoda had said to him. 

“You don’t look so tough, tough guy.” Kanut quirked an eyebrow, placing down the book he was reading. 

“I’m _fine_.” The Prince hissed. 

Kanut was already getting the tea ready. “Sure, sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN?!?!?! Zuko runs to the bowsprit while having a panic attack has very similar vibes to zuko climbs the mainsail in a failed escape attempt. The way that this enrages me is just-. Nobody talk to me. Alexa play heather by conan gray. Anyways hakoda’s thought process on Zuko is understandably getting more and more tangled and I needed to give him a slap to the face to make him realise where his heads at, and what better way to do that than combine hakoda’s inner turmoil with zuko’s lack of thought process. Cue Fire Prince Hurls Himself Off Ship Leaving Hakoda To Battle With The Aftermath Of Saving Him Without Hesitation.
> 
> I'm going to post chapter 6 on Monday I've decided, and after that, updates will be weekly on Mondays. Do I find it hilarious that we're at the stage that I had to create an upload schedule when I originally thought this fic would get a total of 2 hits? Yes. Am I mad about it? Not at all. Hope you all stick with me and the crew now updates aren't daily, we all knew i had to get a grip sooner or later you aren't allowed to get aggy xx


	6. i. The South Pole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey nerds I have one thing to say and that is FIVE THOUSAND HITS. What. WHAT. There should be a point made here but all my mind is saying is WHAT. That is??? So many people?? As usual your comments are giving me life and you guys are funnier than I'll ever be, I've accepted it at this point. Here we are with chapter 6!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I’m lowkey very nervous about this one because it’s the first one where I'm completely writing on my own without any back up from other AUs or Salvage, and I’ve convinced myself that you guys are gonna hate it because of that. Chapter 6 and 7 were ORIGINALLY one chapter but it was one oompa loompa body ass bitch so I had to cut them into two. Hence those are the ones I'm most nervous about lmaoo. If you can get past chapter 6 and 7 and still not despise this fic, then I’ll be happy
> 
> Okay enjoy have a nice day and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do x

The South Pole was a treacherous, barren landscape of ice and snow. Survival was achieved only by those who knew the secrets of this place. As the Ullaakut cut through the frozen waters, the Southern Water Tribe breathed in a collective sigh, familiar with how cold air curls at the back of your throat, familiar with numb fingertips, familiar with the pink tint that overcomes the white surroundings in the short twilight before the winter nights sweep through. This place was treacherous and barren, but it was _home_. 

“Can’t believe you kept quiet about this, Chief.” Tomkin said, the blue hood of his anorak pulled around his face to hide his small smile. The crew had noticed the colder waters this past week. Tomkin hypothesised they were heading north again, Nanook suggested some freak winter they weren’t accustomed to. They knew that Hakoda and Tulok sometimes kept their location a secret from the rest of the crew, and they trusted them enough to stick to hypothesising for now. That was until last night. Hakoda called everyone to his cabin. His tone was as cold as the waters around them as he told them that, two weeks ago, Prince Zuko revealed that he had been south. Whether it was a raid or not, they would see for themselves. They couldn’t take an ashmaker’s word. Not on something like this. 

As the crew bristled and yelled in horror, Tomkin realised why Prince Zuko had been locked in the infirmary all day instead of doing chores like normal. 

“You know I only keep things from you all when I think it’s absolutely necessary.” Hakoda said, stood at Tomkin’s side as they stared out at the South Pole from the bow. In the distance, Tomkin saw the tiniest speck. A village. His village. Their village. They were home after two long years. 

“Don’t worry about it, Chief.” Tomkin knocked his shoulder against Hakoda’s, though this was more challenging than it sounded seeing as Tomkin was a lot shorter than the Chief. “I forgive you.” 

“Anchor!” Tulok shouted from the crow’s nest, and Tomkin watched as the crew dashed around the deck, each doing their bit to dock the ship. The ice was too thick now to get any closer. They would reach the village on foot from here. 

“Don’t just stand there, Tomkin!” Chena called as he hauled the anchor. Tomkin flinched. No one had called him Little Tom all day. It should have been a good thing, but even an idiot could notice the sour mood of the Ullaakut. Everyone was mentally preparing themself to have lost someone. The crew were tense, a pack of wolves readying to pounce, and Prince Zuko was their target. Kanut kept him in the infirmary, but the Prince wasn’t stupid. He could feel the change in atmosphere. He didn’t eat the food Tomkin brought him, and Nanook didn’t visit anymore. 

Truth be told, Tomkin didn’t think the Prince _had_ led a raid. It was a gut feeling more than anything. Tomkin had looked into the eyes of Fire Nation raiders, and he saw a cruelty that this boy didn’t have. 

It was easy for Tomkin to be more relaxed than the others. They all had something to lose, but everyone Tomkin loved was on this ship. 

Hakoda ruffled Tomkin’s hair. “Go make yourself useful, Little Tom.” 

____ 

Zuko was pointedly keeping his breath as emberless as possible. He had known they were returning south, and he remembered just how freezing it was in this sparse land, but still, the sharp chill of the air made everything in him shudder. It was so cold that he was actually grateful for the fluffy pelts he wore, sinking deeper into them and rubbing his hands together. When he exhaled, his breath emerged as mist. Zuko had never seen that before he came to the South Pole. He'd thought something was wrong with him at first. Every breath became... smoky, and every now and then, a few sparks flew that he quickly tried to hide. 

Uncle had taught him his breath of fire. A way of regulating body temperature. _Firebending power comes from the breath,_ Uncle would say, _not the muscle_. The thought of Uncle made Zuko clutch his pai sho tile tighter. 

“How does that work?” Kanut asked suddenly, and Zuko blinked to see the healer was staring at him. His heart began to race. 

“How does what work?” 

Kanut crossed his big arms. “I’m not stupid, kid. This infirmary isn’t big enough for me to miss somebody _breathing fire._ ” 

“I’m not a kid and I wasn’t firebending. It's just a trick to keep warm, and I was barely doing it. You can’t prove anything-.” 

“You’re not in trouble, tough guy.” Kanut shook his head, silencing Zuko’s panic. “I’m just curious.” 

Kanut seemed to be a very curious man, always reading and asking questions. Zuko swallowed. He'd become gradually used to the company of the healer, listening to his bad attitude and drinking his semi-scorched tea. Kanut hadn’t asked Zuko to turn away from the door since that first night on the ship, he just wordlessly checked Zuko’s stitches wherever Zuko made himself comfortable. 

“You know I told you about chi?” Zuko grumbled reluctantly. 

“The whole soul thing?" Kanut asked. 

“It’s more than that.” Zuko hissed, already impatient. Kanut cracked a grin. He seemed to like winding Zuko up. Zuko growled before taking a deep breath, continuing valiantly. 

“Well, chi is settled with breathing exercises, which is why we meditate. If a firebender concentrates, then they can turn their breathing into a form of fire to keep warm.” Zuko finished, before demonstrating with a steady inhale, and an exhale that saw a few embers jump from his lips. 

Kanut stared, almost... impressed. “That’s actually pretty cool, ashmaker.” He said, and Zuko’s scowl deepened. He hated that nickname. 

“It’s not difficult.” He mumbled. 

“Just don’t let the others catch you doing that.” Kanut winked, and it was almost like they were sharing a joke. But inherently, the two of them were enemies. Zuko never understood why Kanut accommodated him like this. It made him feel guilty, though he knew that was wrong. Azula never felt guilty. Father never felt guilty. 

Zuko sighed, smoothing down his shirt and retying his hair with his red ribbon. His hands needed something to do, to calm his nerves. Staring at the smooth fabric of his ribbon, Zuko felt his heart skip a beat. How could something as simple as a ribbon have such an impact? But it was so _red_. Red as his father’s rage as he wore this in that fateful war meeting. Red as the fire that burned his face off, his ribbon pulling back his hair so his father had a clear view of his target. Red as Lee’s blood, Zuko wearing this ribbon as he watched the poor soldier die. This was all Zuko had left of the Erlong, all he had left of his life in the Fire Nation. This, and his pai sho tile. Just two meaningless objects that he clung to, because if he didn’t hold onto _something_ , he’d fall. 

Suddenly, he felt the ship drag to a loud stop, footsteps on deck heavier than before. His heart began to race, and despite the cold, sweat erupted on the nape of his neck. They were here. 

“Listen to me, tough guy.” Kanut leaned forward urgently, tone serious and eyes heavy. Zuko had never seen him like this before. “You’ve pissed a lot of people off. Now, I don’t think you’re slick enough to have lied to Hakoda, which is the only reason why I'm sat with you now. That being said, if it turns out that there’s something awful waiting for us in the village, I won’t be able to stop the crew from getting to you. Just keep your head down and mouth shut. No instigating. You got that?” 

Zuko felt like everything inside him was being twisted, but there was also a tiny bit of comfort. There was an entire crew here that hated him for something he hadn’t done, but at least one person believed him. Kanut was staying by his side, though Zuko was yet to figure out why. For however long that lasted, it was enough. 

Zuko nodded grimly. “Okay.” 

____ 

Kanna’s life had been eventful. She was born into the Northern Water Tribe, entered an arranged marriage when she was just a girl, and subsequently left everything she knew behind to secure her freedom, travelling across the entire globe during a world-wide war. _Alone_. She'd suffered through the Southern Raids, losing her dear Kya, and watched her only son leave, a Chief going into battle. For two years, she raised Katara and Sokka as her own, right up until that airbender accidentally led the Fire Nation to their village. Kanna had been outraged, sending him away. That was when that moody, manhandling teenage firebender arrived, and she found out the airbender boy had been the Avatar. Many in her village had lost touch with the Spirits after all of their benders were taken away, but Kanna had always clung to her beliefs. Perhaps having the last southern waterbender as a granddaughter helped that. For the first time in a long time, she felt hope. Hope that maybe she just might live to see change. Kanna knew she had to let her grandchildren carry out their destinies, and allowed them to leave with the Avatar. Hakoda would be surly about it, protective as he was, but she could handle his temper when he finally returned to her. 

Kanna's life had been eventful, and she was quite happy to now live out the rest of her days peacefully in her village, thank you very much. It would seem, however, that every time Kanna tried to settle down, the world had other plans. 

“They’re home! Gran-gran, look!” One of the little ones exclaimed, because that’s what all the little ones called her – she'd delivered most of them, after all, dropping the basket he was supposed to be weaving to leap to his feet. He pointed a tiny gloved hand towards the horizon. Kanna's vision wasn’t what it used to be, but she could see her tribe’s reaction well enough. The women gasped and surged forward, the children jumping to try and see. And if Kanna squinted, she could see too. A pack of blue, huddled together, walking from a familiar ship. 

“ _Hakoda_.” Kanna whispered, heart twisting equally in hope and trepidation. Her son had finally returned home, after two long years, but that didn’t explain _why_ he was home. Had something gone wrong? 

Kanna did a quick count in her head, expecting the worst. According to Hakoda's infrequent letters, there were exactly fifteen Water Tribe warriors travelling on the Ulaakut, the rest camped at Chameleon Bay. 

She sighed in relief when her headcount saw fifteen men. 

____ 

Hakoda’s mother was half his size, yet as he jogged the last few metres between them, he swore her hug was tight enough to choke him. 

“My son.” Kanna whispered in his ear, throat tight, her gentle fingers brushing through his brown hair. 

“Hey, mom.” Hakoda smiled, feeling suddenly like a boy all over again. He remembered wreaking havoc around the village with Bato, Kanut chasing after them, desperately telling them to come back to their lessons with Kanna before they got in trouble. They always did get in trouble. Even as an adult, the sight of his mom with her hands on her hips outside their igloo was terrifying to Hakoda. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” Kanna pulled back, clasping Hakoda’s face in her hands to survey him fully. Around him, Hakoda could hear his crew reuniting with their wives and children and parents. He was so happy in that moment that he almost forgot why they were home, but being the Chief’s mother gave Kanna a cynicism the other villagers lacked. 

“You’re back early.” She said, and in that, there was a question. _Why_ are you back early? 

Hakoda sighed, looking out to his village. It was a small thing. A dozen tents made of whalebone and pelts, a few campfires, a large igloo on the far end of the village, walls of ice encasing the plot in a circle. Nothing screamed destruction, but then again, some of the raids left nearly no trace aside heartbreak. 

“We heard rumour of the Fire Nation in the village. We had to know for sure if we... if we lost anyone.” Hakoda said quietly, eyes still scanning. He tried not to panic as each second dragged without any sign of his kids, he tried to tell himself that maybe the Prince had been honest about that much and Sokka and Katara were just travelling for some convoluted reason. Kanna wouldn’t have let them go off unless she was absolutely certain they’d be alright. Unless of course, they hadn’t left. Unless they hadn’t _survived_. 

Kanna's mouth worked, both in anger and exhaustion, and she nodded once. “The Fire Nation were here, about a month ago now. It wasn’t a raid and we didn’t lose anyone, but they were here.” 

_We didn’t lose anyone._ Hakoda hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until it all gushed out of him in a choking cry of relief. Thank the Spirits. He could have collapsed in that moment, but stayed standing strong. Whatever his mother had to say now, he could take it. 

“Hakoda,” Kanna said, and a chill ran down Hakoda’s spine, “the Avatar is alive. Sokka and Katara... they found him. They left with him. It's their destiny-." 

“Wait... the Avatar?” Hakoda whispered. “You mean... the kid was telling the truth?” 

Hakoda snapped his head around, suddenly oblivious to Kanna’s confused questions. Hakoda saw Tulok with his sister, Tulok’s eyes widening joyfully as she carefully handed him his baby niece. Tulok’s brother-in-law was one of the men at Chameleon Bay. Hakoda saw Nanook’s father ruffling his hair, Nanook finally looking as young as he truly was as he reunited with his parents. Hakoda pointedly did _not_ see Chena and his wife sharing a very passionate kiss. 

Hakoda’s gaze finally landed on a group of three. They were stood somewhat awkwardly to the side of the celebrations. Tomkin stared at his feet and a bolt of pity struck through Hakoda at the sight, and Kanut was grinning from ear to ear as he watched his delighted crew. And of course, at Kanut’s side, stood a little behind him with an expression of stone that wasn’t doing anything to hide his apprehension, was the Fire Prince. 

The Fire Prince who hadn’t lied. The Fire Prince who had done nothing wrong but be born Fire Nation. The Fire Prince who Hakoda had hated over something the kid didn’t do. The Fire Prince who Hakoda had _regretted_ saving back on the deck that night. 

Hakoda shouldn’t have felt as guilty as he did. 

____ 

Zuko watched the Tribespeople with an equal measure of two things. 

The first was blatant curiosity. He'd watched the crewmen interact for weeks, and suddenly, these tough warriors were laughing and crying and holding their family close in a moment that was genuinely sweet to Zuko. 

The second was terror. His life had been in jeopardy back when he only had a dozen or so warriors to deal with. Now, the numbers against him had almost doubled. Most of the people here were too young or old to fight, but Zuko counted at least thirteen women who were the right age to be warriors. Perhaps they stayed to defend their home? But that didn’t explain why nobody except the Chief’s bloody-minded son had tried to stop Zuko when he came here last-. 

Zuko’s thoughts froze. He’d let his concentration slip for a few stupid seconds, and suddenly, he caught the Chief’s hard stare. Chief Hakoda was stood with a small, elderly woman who wore her white hair the same way the waterbender girl – Katara – did. Zuko swore he recognised this woman somewhat, but it was unclear. What was made very clear when her blue eyes widened hatefully on Zuko was that she certainly recognised him. 

Hakoda ducked down to say something to the woman. Somehow, her eyes widened more, and before Zuko could react, the two were walking towards him through the crowd. 

“Easy, Your Highness, it’s just Kanna.” Tomkin said teasingly, his smile smaller than usual. Zuko had waited for the Tribesman to run off like the others to find his family when they reached the village, but Tomkin, like Kanut, had stayed with Zuko on the outskirts. 

“Kanna!” Kanut greeted when the woman got closer, walking to meet her. Kanna's eyes turned soft, affectionate, at the sight of Kanut, and she smiled warmly, grasping his arms firmly. 

“How is it that you boys keep _growing_ so much?” She demanded in an old voice, patting Kanut’s cheek. It was an oddly motherly sight, and Zuko had never seen Kanut look so... unguarded. Zuko remembered his own mother. _You're almost as tall as me!_ He’d believe it even though he was quite obviously only as tall as her elbows. 

Zuko wanted to watch Kanut and the old woman more closely, but he kept his gaze on the snowy ground to avoid the Chief’s stare. He abruptly paused the small breath of fire he’d been keeping up, not wanting to risk even the smallest spark in front of the Chief, and the cold rushed in immediately, making his bones shiver. 

“Mom,” the Chief turned to Kanna, his tone far too light for the weight of his stare, “this is Prince Zuko.” 

“We’ve met.” Kanna growled, and Zuko winced. He remembered her now. Of all the villagers, why did he have to assault the Chief’s _mother_. Idiot. 

“Um...” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about... grabbing you.” 

There wasn’t really much more Zuko could say, and the cold glare of the old woman made him freeze up. That was until a loud snort startled him, and he turned to see Kanut tipping his head back in laughter. 

“Wow, Kanna, you’ve really lost your touch if you let this imbecile get you.” Kanut chuckled, shoving Zuko’s head when he glared murderously at him. Kanna looked at them all in shock, as if expecting somebody to be surprised by this behaviour, but Tomkin was grinning and even the Chief just shook his head with a wry smile. 

Kanna turned her attention fully back to the Chief, and if Zuko wasn’t so terrified he’d find it comical when the Chief turned nervous. 

“You,” Kanna said sternly, “have a lot of explaining to do." 

____ 

Kanut was probably the only one of the crew aside Prince Zuko who wasn’t overjoyed to be back in the South Pole. 

It wasn’t anything to do with the villagers. Kanut had always loved the community spirit of his home, and the North Pole and Earth Kingdom had shown him just how good Southern Water Tribe humour was. Kanut still remembered the stilted silence following one of Bato’s famous - or rather infamous - dirty jokes, a group of Earth Kingdom soldiers blinking in horror while Kanut and Hakoda coughed to cover their hysterics. Never again. 

But the village was so _small_ , and everyone knew everyone else’s business, and it always seemed to be Kanut’s business that was whispered about. Him, and his useless, washed-up father. Kanut's village went to the coast of the South Pole monthly to collect supplies delivered by one of the nearby islands. Part of their supplies involved rum, and it would seem Kanut’s father drank for the entire village. 

Kanut survived his childhood by telling himself it was the rum that powered the hate behind his father’s fist. His teenage years saw him realising that _perhaps_ his father wasn’t a very nice person. Adulthood, and he got his own tent, but the smallness of his village meant that he couldn't get away from seeing his father every day. Still, it was enough distance for Kanut to start hating his father, and once that started, he couldn’t get it to stop. His hatred festered into something poisonous, and he had no incentive to stop it. When Hakoda told Kanut the warriors were leaving, undoubtedly for years on end, Kanut couldn’t have got on the Ullaakut quick enough. The day they left, Kanut went to his father, saw him lying there, sprawled on the furs with a goblet in his hand, not even looking over to Kanut. Kanut, his only son. Kanut, all he had left after his waterbender wife was taken and his youngest daughter was lost to hypothermia eleven winters earlier. 

And what did he manage to slur out? 

_Maybe now, son, you’ll finally make yourself fucking useful._

Kanut had shaken his head, spat in the snow, and left. 

Two years had subdued Kanut’s hate somewhat. A good view of the war makes domestic affairs seem pretty irrelevant, and Kanut’s father just didn’t deserve the energy it took for Kanut to hate him. He was a pathetic old man who took a child and broke him. Kanna raised Kanut better than his father ever did. _Hakoda and Bato_ raised him better than his stupid father ever did. He didn’t deserve a place in Kanut’s heart, so now, he lived in his nightmares. 

Kanut was a grown fucking man and he still woke up to his father’s yells. 

Kanna's tent was cosy and spacious, the walls and icy floor lined with skins and furs to keep the heat in, the walls decorated with ceremonial skulls, the corners filled with pots and weapons and various other tools, and of course, a small pile of books. Kanna had been the one to get Kanut into reading. Back then, it wasn’t for pleasure, but instead to calm him. 

In the centre of the tent and glowing lazily was a small fire. That's what Kanna sat beside as she led Kanut, Hakoda and Prince Zuko inside. 

Prince Zuko paused at the entrance, watching Hakoda sit beside his mother, the Chief looking pointedly from the Prince to the floor. A clear indication. _Sit._

"Remember what I said about keeping your head down.” Kanut warned quietly so only the Prince could hear. The teenager whirled on him, gold eyes wide. 

“You’re not staying?” He sounded scared, and quickly cleared his throat, rolling back his shoulders. The kid’s pride would get him killed. Kanut had told him time and time again to stop working his shoulders like that while his stitches were healing. 

“Nah,” Kanut sighed, knowing he couldn’t put this off forever, “I’m going to find my father.” 

Kanut hadn’t been surprised that his father was yet to show up, and his reluctance to leave the Fire Prince alone with the entirety of the tribe had been his excuse for why he hadn’t sought his dad out yet, but now, the kid was with Hakoda, and Kanut was out of time. 

The Prince of the Fire Nation scowled, before nodding. Kanut watched the kid’s quick predicament as he battled between putting the tent’s entrance on his left side or putting the Chief on his left side, before he cautiously sat by the fire, as far from Hakoda as he could get without angering the man. He had decided that the unknown was safer than Hakoda; the Chief was on his right. The sight made Kanut’s heart twist, before he ducked out of the tent and was hit once again with the frozen southern air. 

“Kanut!” 

He almost jumped at Kanna’s call, turning to see the elder had followed him. 

“Everything alright?” Kanut asked with an easy-going smile, but Kanna’s expression was twisted into an expression of concern. 

Something was wrong. 

____ 

The first time Hakoda brought Kanut home, Hakoda had been ten years old. Little Kanut, the youngest of the pair, had glared from the corner of Kanna’s hut with surly blue eyes. Kanna knew all of the members of her tribe. She knew this boy didn’t play with the other children, and sometimes she’d find him wandering the village at night, reluctant to go home. When Hakoda brought him to Kanna, he had been deeply upset, quickly explaining to his mother how him and Bato – already a recipe for disaster - had been trying to lasso an arctic hippo when they heard shouting coming from Kanut’s igloo. It was an unspoken rule in the village to always pretend not to hear the shouting. Kanna believed in the old ways, of everyone’s business being their own and no one else’s. That passiveness had haunted her when Hakoda continued to tell his story. Her son was not the coward she was, and had run into the igloo with Bato to find Kanut, just eight years old, cowering on the floor. They got there in time to see Kanut’s father, a grumpy man named Yutu, throwing things at his son, who only clutched his head and legs as close to his torso as possible and waited it out with all of the patience of practice. 

Hakoda brought him to Kanna, because Kanut was bleeding. His hands were all scratched up. He didn’t talk to her as she gently cleaned his injuries, but eventually admitted his father had thrown a glass bottle at his face, and it was all he could do to catch it in his hands. 

It became a chillingly common occurrence after that. It was always worse at the beginning of the month, when fresh supplies would come in. Kanna would go to sleep, the village would be peaceful, and then, the drunken cursing of Yutu would fill the night, and not long later, Kanut would sheepishly arrive in Kanna’s tent with a new bruise or cut. Hakoda would already have a sleeping bag out for him. 

Kanna vowed to protect Kanut, and would always keep him in her tent for as long as she could, schooling him and letting him go off to play with Hakoda and Bato. Healing was a female practice, but Kanut always looked so mesmerised as he watched Kanna work, and he was in her tent so often that it was ridiculous for her not to start teaching him. First the basics, and gradually the more advanced medicine. When Hakoda asked him to be the Angakkuq of the Ullaakut, Kanna had never been more proud of Kanut. 

Kanut’s trust was a thing earnt painfully slowly. Kanna always wished she could do more for this little boy who she’d come to love like a second son, but the ways of her tribe were as set as they had been up north. At the end of the day, Yutu was Kanut’s father, and he was a man. He had more right to the boy than Kanna did, and her word was nothing against his. 

“Everything alright?” Kanut asked as they stood outside Kanna’s tent. Kanut was a strapping lad now, his staple white hair falling to the base of his back and his blue eyes sharp. but Kanna noticed a key difference. After two years, the sharpness of Kanut’s gaze had lost its anger. There was just a cleverness there now. 

“Kanut, it’s about your father.” Kanna said quietly. She didn’t know how Kanut would feel about what she had to say. He had always been so secretive about how he felt. Not like Hakoda, whose temper led to hundreds of tellings-off from Kanna. 

At the mention of Yutu, Kanut worked his jaw, absentmindedly touching the scars lining his hands. “What did he do?” Kanut growled, and Kanna shook her head. 

“My boy...” Kanna whispered, reaching out only for Kanut to take a step back. “He died. A few months after you left.” 

Kanut stared like he didn't hear her. He didn’t blink. He didn’t _breathe_. He just... stared. There wasn’t grief in his eyes, or even shock. Seconds dragged to minutes, but Kanna didn’t rush Kanut. She would stand here for hours if that was what he needed. 

Finally, Kanut nodded his head grimly. “I guess decades of heavy drinking have to lead to death sooner or later." He said, voice completely monotonous. Then, he shrugged his big shoulders and simply turned and walked away. He didn’t seem upset. He didn’t seem anything. Kanna debated going after him, but knew Kanut well enough to leave him to his thoughts. 

Besides, the Fire Lord’s son was currently in her tent. 

Hakoda had told Kanna that Bato was alright but he wasn’t with them, and that gave Kanna the slightest ease. Hakoda, Bato and Kanut were her three boys. They always had been. 

With a sad sigh, Kanna sent a prayer to the Spirits, before returning to her tent. 

It seemed most of her prayers revolved around her boys. 

____ 

When the village elder followed Kanut out of the tent, Zuko was left alone with the Chief. Zuko held himself rigidly still, staring at the glowing fire and trying to breathe easily enough that the flames didn’t rise and fall with his inhales and exhales. It wasn’t really firebending, but the Chief wouldn't like it. 

That being said, Zuko hadn’t been so close to such a large open flame in weeks. It made him feel strong, stronger than he’d ever been on the Water Tribe ship. Even with the Chief’s presence making his blood run cold, this was the first time Zuko didn’t ache. He couldn’t feel his stitches, his throat didn’t sting when he swallowed, the dozens of bruises decorating his pale skin didn’t press with the thrumming of his heart. It made him want to sit even closer to the warm fire, but he didn’t want the Chief suspecting anything. He might take him away from the flame altogether. 

“You were telling the truth." The Chief said suddenly, and Zuko startled. The fire released a loud crackle, but the Chief didn’t seem disturbed by it. 

“Yes, sir." Zuko responded, because he didn’t know what else to say. _Of course_ he was telling the truth. The Southern Water Tribe were of no importance to him the moment they stopped harbouring the Avatar. He'd tried to say so much over and over again, but the crewmen wouldn’t hear it, and the Chief had hardly looked at him since he saved him from drowning that night. Zuko still didn’t know why he did that. He understood that he was just a bargaining chip between the Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom, but still, the hatred that Chief Hakoda radiated was _personal_. Surely it would have been easier just to let Zuko _die._ Agni knew that’s what everyone else thought. Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. 

“But...” The Chief started, frowning like he was grappling with something. Zuko never understood why the Chief did this. Whenever the man was struggling with something, he never even tried to hide it. It humanised him, which was terrible for a leader. Father was an icon of stone, standing over the Fire Nation, looking on from statues and posters. Everybody knew him and, in that, nobody knew him. The Fire Lord was a title, not a man. And that made him powerful. 

“Why... _didn’t_ you?" The Chief finally asked, speaking quietly, the fire the only thing keeping his frozen gaze from Zuko’s crawling skin. 

“Why didn’t I what?" Zuko asked, breathing deep to quiet his racing heart. 

The Chief’s voice was as cold as the glaciers around them. “Why didn’t you hurt anybody?” 

Zuko stared at the Chief. The Chief stared right back. For once, Zuko forgot that staring was rude and that he should look at the floor. He just couldn’t _understand_ , and he hoped maybe he could find something, _anything_ , in the Chief’s expression to aid him slightly, but it was just as unintelligible as always. And Zuko had been told his entire life that ‘ _Princes do not swear_ ’, but still, the only thought his mind could conjure was; 

What the _fuck_ kind of question was that? 

“I keep telling you,” Zuko started, startling himself with the forcefulness of his own tone, but he couldn’t stop himself, “I never hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Why would I go out of my way to cause pain and suffering when there is _absolutely_ no need for it?” 

Zuko was angry, he realised that now. He realised it as the fire rose an inch with his clenched fists. He was angry because he had been with the Southern Water Tribe warriors for over two weeks now, and he had done nothing but tell the truth and do their chores and keep his head down, despite knowing that he’d be sent off to the Earth Kingdom with nothing but a savage’s promise that he would be treated fairly, and _still_ , he was looked at like a monster, like _he_ was the bad guy. It wasn’t fair. He'd done nothing wrong.

“And what about when we met?” The Chief asked with a raised eyebrow. “You moved first. I was perfectly willing to sail onwards. No one had to die that day." 

Lee’s wide eyes, the sound of a dozen tiles clattering to the metal floor, blood sliding over the deck. _No one had to die that day._ Like it was Zuko’s fault, like Zuko hadn’t watched on, helpless, as the _Water Tribe_ attacked. 

The fire crawled another inch higher as Zuko seethed. 

“You’re wrong. I never gave any order to attack. That was you. My crew weren’t even _armed_.” 

The Chief sucked in a breath of surprise and Zuko was struck with a sudden terror that he’d overstepped his boundaries. Had he spoken out of turn? He should have just shut up. What did it matter what he said now, anyway? 

But instead of striking out, the Chief narrowed his eyes. 

_“What are you talking about?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhohooo this chapter is an interesting one. i know you’re here for Zuko angst but this one mainly revolves around Kanut, but given the reception you guys gave him I think you won’t mind?? I hope?? Yeah you might hate me because of his backstory though I’M SORRY but in my head he always had a special relationship with Zuko because they both understood each other on a cellular level because of their upbringing. Hakoda FINALLY starts realising shit and Zuko FINALLY gets the nerve to stand up for himself a little and it absolutely is worth it. Also Kanna is here I adore her she is SUCH a mum. Kanna for president 2020. Also also do you KNOW how much it pains my english ass to type mOm. Revolting. I hate it. Beat it with a stick. 
> 
> Chapter 7 is out in a whole WEEK?? idk if i can wait that long


	7. i. The Smell Of Smoke Clings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a mess for two reasons. The first, because for the past five hours my rotting apple core of a mind has repeated the same phrase at me. For five hours. 𝕹𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖊 𝖆 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕, 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕣𝕒𝕖. I'm on the verge of TEARS someone literally put me out of my misery and just fucking shoot me. The other reason is because SEVEN THOUSAND HITS. I feel like u guys are like this one big group of mates that chat to me and give me compliments that I absolutely do not deserve and it makes me happy. You're all such assholes <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 7. But hella, it isn’t Monday! I hear you cry. i know shut up. it’s not ENTIRELY my fault; you guys are a terrible influence. I really did try. Alas, I lasted two days. Pathetic. we’re catching up to where I'm at with writing it so when my bank of chapters runs out you guys are gonna WISH you hadn’t bullied me into updating so often (do you see me subtly placing the blame on you? Emotional manipulation at its finest). Basically a chapter with very little plot but a LOT of character focus <3  
> FOTD: I just realised if you combine Tomkin and Nanook you get Tom Nook and I can't fucking get over this i'm sobbign my little animal crossing icon
> 
> Okay I'm done chatting shit have a nice day nerds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do xx

Violence was to the Fire Nation what tragedy is to monsters. A caustic necessity, a genesis, a ravenous need unable to be quenched. Violence was what created them, and in turn, violence was all they knew. It was insatiable. 

In their minds, the option to be peaceful didn’t exist. 

So where had this teenager come from? Hakoda was looking at Prince Zuko and in him, he saw a hundred decisions to walk away from a fight, a hundred decisions that would have ended differently with any other Fire Nation citizen. 

Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was a breathing, biting, burning insignia. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was the Fire Lord’s heir and the inferno’s creation. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was the heart-blood of the flame. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was... a child. A child who did not want violence. A child who, again and again and again, had actively _avoided_ violence. 

And Hakoda did not have any idea what to do with that. 

“What are you talking about?” Hakoda breathed, remembering the Prince’s metal ship, remembering the crew glaring at Hakoda’s men. He also remembered something else, something that had slipped from his mind in the following chaos. Those men weren’t wielding weapons. The catapult wasn’t lit. _I never gave any order to attack._

“You kept _staring_...” The Prince hissed, his anger sounding like it was only just being realised in his mind. “You kept staring and I’d already given the order to sail past you, but it was _weird_. I went to go inside, and then you attacked.” 

Hakoda felt like he was trying to walk on water. He had desperately grappled for reasons to hate this boy. First, he hated Prince Zuko because he was the Prince of the nation that had crushed the world in their bloody fists, and he hated Prince Zuko because he attacked the Ullaakut, and he hated Prince Zuko because he kept escaping, and he hated Prince Zuko because he had led a raid in the South Pole, and he hated Prince Zuko because he had hurt Sokka and Katara. 

Now, Hakoda knew Sokka and Katara had left of their own volition, like the boy had said, to help the Avatar, like the boy had said. Now, Hakoda knew there was never a raid in the South Pole and everybody was alright, like the boy had said. Now, Hakoda knew anger and raised voices and sudden movements panicked the boy, and from that perspective, _of course_ he kept escaping. Now, Hakoda knew the Fire Nation soldiers on the ship that day had never intended to attack the Ullaakut, that it was all down to miscommunication, that the boy had even tried to _literally_ walk away from the fight, and Hakoda hadn’t let him. 

Now, all Hakoda’s hatred had left to desperately grasp was the fact that this boy was still the Prince of the nation that had crushed the world in their bloody fists. Hakoda hated Prince Zuko because of something the boy had no control over. Effectively, Hakoda hated Prince Zuko simply because he was _born_. 

The Fire Prince had been cooperative, considering the circumstances, and he was a child being forced to make adult decisions because his father was cruel enough to _banish_ him at only _thirteen-years-old._ And Hakoda was a grown man refusing to give the Prince a chance. 

How had the tables turned so substantially that the Fire Prince now seemed more honourable than Hakoda? 

Hakoda cursed, not caring when the boy flinched as he let his head fall into his hands. Maybe it was the comfort of being home, the child inside of him relishing in his mother’s proximity, but Hakoda simply felt no need to hold up this tough façade before Prince Zuko anymore. Hakoda was a Chief, but it wasn’t all he was, and he decided it wouldn’t be the end of the world for the Prince to see his other side. The side that was a father, and a son, and a Tribesman. 

“All that bloodshed...” Hakoda muttered, seeing Chena and Nanook’s burns, Prince Zuko’s small, bloody body lying helplessly in the infirmary, even the Fire Nation soldiers who never left the deck of that ship. “All that bloodshed for nothing.” 

And Hakoda hadn’t even lost any men. He couldn’t imagine the guilt that would drown him right now if he had. 

Hakoda was a leader. Leaders made decisions. This was the responsibility that crushed him when those decisions turned out to be wrong. 

“If that’s honestly how you see it, then why did you attack?” Prince Zuko snarled, and there was pain in his eyes, like the weight of a tsunami that hadn’t hit land yet. 

Hakoda sighed. “When you moved, I thought you were giving your men an order. I wasn’t going to wait for you to start attacking us first. One blast of fire and the Ullaakut would have sank. In my head, we were racing each other. Which leader would strike first? In my head, it was me. I never thought... never even considered that you...” 

“Chief?” The Prince’s sudden voice came out as a strangled gasp and Hakoda froze. The tsunami was close now. The boy’s pale face was a natural disaster ready to decimate. Something was happening here that Hakoda was missing. 

“If I hadn’t moved,” Prince Zuko whispered, “would you still have attacked?” 

“I thought about it.” Hakoda said slowly. “But it would have been too much of a risk. We were going to keep sailing.” 

The Prince choked and the tsunami hit, the fire before Hakoda parting and toiling unnaturally. It was as if an invisible force had grasped the Fire Prince by the throat and was suffocating him. He was trying to sit tall, but the agony across his face was blatant. 

In a small voice, the Prince managed a quiet whisper. 

_“I killed Lee.”_

____ 

It hadn’t been Zuko’s blade that snipped Lee’s life short, it hadn’t been his feet that guided Lee to that exact position on the deck, it hadn’t been Zuko’s order to attack. But still, it was undoubtable in his mind. Lee, the young soldier with the lilting voice and embarrassing lack of experience, was dead because of Zuko. 

“Who’s Lee?” The Chief asked, eyes narrowed cautiously on Zuko. It seemed this conversation had opened up something in the Chief. Everything he felt flashed across his face with the vibrance of fire, unmasked and shameless. Zuko could _actually_ read him. But it was all for nothing, because all Zuko saw was the sodden pai sho table and the small, crumpled body beside it. 

It was his fault. He was in command of the Erlong, he was the one Chief Hakoda had been watching, he was the one who forced the Chief’s hand to attack. And he hadn’t even let his men arm themselves. He led them blindfolded to the dragon’s lair and had the nerve to be surprised when they were devoured. He felt so stupid, so... _childish_. For other teenagers, being childish was a given. For Zuko, it cost men their lives. 

“Hey, Hakoda.” Tomkin’s bright voice chirped and Zuko flinched violently, gold eyes flicking to the boy now stood in the tent’s entrance. Zuko begrudgingly liked Tomkin – not that Tomkin had given him much say in the matter – but a sudden spitefulness overwhelmed him in that moment. Tomkin had told Zuko he was eighteen. Two years older than Zuko. Yet Tomkin was allowed to be stupid and make jokes and have fun without any fatal backlash. What had he ever suffered in his life? Why was he allowed that? 

“You okay, Little Tom?” The Chief asked with the affection he always donned when Tomkin was around, an affection Zuko didn’t understand and couldn’t help but be wary of. Not that he was _protective_ of Tomkin or anything, not that he _cared_ if Tomkin got hurt, but in Zuko’s experience, affection from men like Chief Hakoda usually meant exploitation was on its way. Uncle was the only exception. 

“Kanut’s getting shitty.” Tomkin sighed like he was very hard done by. “Says he’s waiting for Zuko so he can take his stitches out. I said I'd be the royal escort, but only for today, you hear?” Tomkin grinned at Zuko, hesitating a beat at Zuko’s malice but recovering valiantly. “I expect minimum wage and a better attitude than whatever you’ve got on right now.” 

Zuko couldn’t remember when he stopped being _Prince_ Zuko to Tomkin. He’d quickly realised Tomkin’s thoughts moved at such a pace that the title wasn’t lost out of disrespect, but simply because it took up valuable time that was better spent talking about his plan to steal the Ullaakut’s rum supply. If Zuko pointed it out, he knew Tomkin would correct the title, just like how he and Nanook hadn’t called him _Your Majesty_ since Zuko told them it was wrong. Zuko didn’t know why they were so eager to make him comfortable, but... it wasn’t the _worst_ thing in the world. 

"Off you go then.” The Chief sighed, looking to Zuko, but there was something in his blue eyes. He was watching Zuko a little too closely. Zuko cursed himself for reacting so obviously before. He showed weakness in front of the Chief, his _captor_. 

Just as Zuko went to leave, the Chief’s mother returned to the tent. Her blue eyes landed on Zuko, her wrinkled face becoming a scowl. He'd never been looked at with such malice before, not even by the warriors. It made the hair on his arms rise; a primal response to threat. 

“Prince Zuko,” Chief Hakoda said suddenly just as Zuko tried to hurriedly flee, making him flinch, “things will be different here than on the Ullaakut. We are staying for three more days, and in that time, you will still work like everyone else. However, I'm going to loosen up the guards-.” 

“ _Hakoda!_ ” The Chief’s mother, Kanna, cried in disbelief. Hakoda just held up a subduing hand. 

“It’s alright, mom. Prince Zuko understands." The Chief said, and Zuko couldn’t distinguish the threat in his words. “Someone will always be watching you, of course, but that’s the way of village life. _I am trusting you not to abuse this new freedom._ ” 

Zuko’s mind had been a blur of Lee. Lee when he was alive, laughing with the crew, shifting to Lee the moment the boomerang cut his skin, the gargling noise he made as he choked on his own blood. But at the Chief’s words, Zuko couldn’t fathom a single thought. 

_I am trusting you._

He could only swallow the urge to be sick and nod, before following Tomkin outside. 

____ 

So, Tomkin might have lied to the Chief a little. 

Kanut hadn’t told him to get Zuko. In fact, he was barely speaking to him for some reason. Kanut had dumped his bags in the Angakkuq’s tent and was now viciously reading a book like he was trying to tear it apart with his eyes. After a minute of this, he’d looked over at Tomkin, who stood a little abashed in the tent because he really didn’t want to watch Nanook fawning over his parents. It was a horrible thing to think. _Of course_ Tomkin was happy that his best friend was reunited with his family, but it left the hole in his heart, the hole he had learnt to breathe around over time, aching with a sudden ferocity. Kanut's hard gaze had softened a little, and he’d told Tomkin he needed to take the Prince’s stitches out, so if he saw him could he send him his way. Tomkin had nodded eagerly and jogged back outside to see if the Chief was done talking to Zuko. 

Tomkin had grinned a little to himself. He'd known the Prince wouldn’t lead a raid. He'd known he wasn’t bad. He'd called it. But then Tomkin’s grin had fallen, because Nanook was still outside with his parents, and his mother’s thumb was stroking his cheek in the most lovingly light touch, and Tomkin could almost feel the warmth left behind from his own mother’s touch. Almost, but not quite. Because his mother was gone. His father was gone. Tomkin was all alone and he just couldn’t watch anymore. 

So, he’d lied to the Chief, because in two weeks, he had learnt there was nothing more distracting than the moody– and even better, totally _oblivious_ – hilarity of the Fire Prince. 

“You reckon it’ll leave a cool scar?” Tomkin asked as the two boys trudged through the snow, picturing the deep cut on Zuko’s back, almost like a bolt of lightning. Because the Prince wasn’t badass _enough_. 

“How can a scar be cool?” Zuko asked, tone poisonous. He looked like he was going to be sick. Tomkin paused a few metres from Kanut’s tent, eyes widening on the other boy. Zuko was only two years younger than him, but Tomkin was short by his village’s standards, and Zuko was apparently tall by Fire Nation’s standards, so they were practically the same height. There was something about the Prince’s atmosphere, though, that demanded attention. That was the royal in him, Tomkin supposed. 

“Well, they’re badass is all I'm saying.” Tomkin said, trying to joke around the sudden tension. Zuko was annoyed about something. Maybe he needed distracting too? 

“Look!” Tomkin tried, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a raised brown bump scarring from his elbow to halfway down his forearm. “Got this falling on the ice on my first hunt. Pretty cool, right?" 

Zuko's harsh gold eyes answered for him in that no, he did not think that was pretty cool. 

“Badass.” The Prince echoed, letting out a dry chuckle. “What would you know about scars, when all you have to show is _that?_ ” He glared at Tomkin’s scar and Tomkin self-consciously pulled his sleeve back down. The Prince was annoyed, like Tomkin had suspected, but now Tomkin suspected something else. The Prince was annoyed with _him._

“You’ve never suffered anything, have you Tomkin?” Zuko suddenly asked, his tone colder than the ice they stood on. “You think I'm going to look at the scar on my back, at the permanent reminder I have of that day on the Erlong, at my own mutilated skin at the hands of one of your warriors, and you think I'm going to see it as _badass?_ You’re so fucking naïve.” 

Tomkin drew in a breath. He'd never heard the Prince swear before. There was something biting about such a word being uttered in such an enunciated vernacular. Zuko was trying to hurt his feelings, but Tomkin kept himself calm enough to see past that. He was lashing out. Hurt people instinctively hurt others. It was an isolation tactic. And when it came to isolation tactics, Tomkin had noticed Prince Zuko was an expert. 

“This,” Tomkin spoke quietly, turning his chin to show the scar on his neck that was barely longer than his pinkie finger, “is from one of the ropes snapping up on the ship. And this,” Tomkin rolled up his anorak to show the uneven bump of skin on his abdomen, “is from penguin sledding when I was five. And this,” his heart skipped a beat as he lifted up his trouser leg a little, revealing a scar different from the others, “is the burn I received in the Fire Nation raid that killed both of my parents.” 

The blood fell from Zuko’s face in horrified realisation. Tomkin kept talking. 

“We are human beings, Zuko. That means we have scars. When my parents died, every day I had to look at that burn and remember what I'd lost. It took time before I saw it differently. Now, whenever I doubt myself, I have a physical reminder of how hard I fought. It wasn’t enough, but it was all I had. It never should have happened, but it’s there now. It's the same for you.” Tomkin looked Zuko head on. “If you don’t think a reminder of how hard you defended what you care about is cool, then that’s fine, but I see nothing wrong with admitting that it’s pretty fucking badass.” 

____ 

Tomkin was talking about the cut on Zuko’s back, but all Zuko remembered was his own burning skin. _A reminder of how hard you defended what you care about._ Zuko cared about his people. He cared about them differently to how Father cared. Father cared about the territories, the armies. Zuko... Zuko cared about Lee. That day in the war room, he had spoken out in defence of the soldiers like Lee. In return, he was branded. He had never considered that maybe there was something wrong about that until now. 

Maybe what he’d done that day hadn’t been stupid, or dishonourable, or reckless, or disrespectful, or all of the other things he’d heard in three years. Maybe... just maybe... what he’d done was _pretty fucking badass._

“I’m sorry about your parents.” Zuko said with the softness of honesty. Tomkin flinched like the words hurt. 

Tomkin shrugged but his eyes had grown a little watery. “You’re forgiven, Your Highness. It was hardly your doing.” 

No, it wasn’t Zuko’s doing. It was his father’s, and his grandfather’s, and his great-grandfather's. Zuko's lineage that he had always thought was so great had stripped Tomkin, a smiling, kind child, of his family, and for what? 

Fire Lord Sozin started the war in order to conquer the world, Southern Water Tribe included. Fire Lord Azulon decided, because of their nomadic ways and lack of resources, that instead of wasting military personnel on the south, he would just take all of their waterbenders from them in hopes of breaking their spirit and substantially decreasing their population. Over fifty years, raids were carried out, and all of the southern waterbenders were captured or killed. That was until Zuko met Katara and realised one had slipped the net in a showing of pure – and apparently genetic - stubbornness. When he realised that, he’d been angry. His tutors had told him growing up that the south’s waterbenders were savages, uncooperative to the point of ridiculousness. The Fire Nation had tried to take them peacefully, and they had fought every step of the way, leading to violence. 

Now, Zuko had to consider how you propose to somebody that they are going to be imprisoned _peacefully_. Zuko had hardly been cooperative on the Water Tribe ship, the Ullaakut, and he wasn’t a savage like he’d been told the Water Tribe warriors were. 

Was the Fire Nation truly at fault here? 

He shook his head. These were dangerous, blasphemous thoughts. What would Father do if he knew Zuko was thinking like this? 

“I didn’t think...” Zuko started carefully, embarrassed by his genuine reluctance to hurt Tomkin’s feelings. “I just thought that no one was... in the raids, I mean... I thought-.” 

“You thought nobody was killed?” Tomkin finished patiently, and Zuko nodded. 

“You thought wrong. I guess it’s not your fault.” Tomkin sighed. “But if there’s one thing I've realised since sailing from home, it’s that the extent the Fire Nation goes to cover their tracks borders on impressive. You know what propaganda is, right?” 

Zuko huffed. “Of course I know what propaganda is.” 

Tomkin just chuckled. “Well, the Fire Nation’s full of it by the sound of things. I'm sure they told you the raids weren’t a one-sided effort, that the Water Tribe did horrible things to your poor soldiers. That's not the truth though. The Fire Nation showed up here again and again and again, each time taking more of our benders. We fought back, but it was self-defence, and we never stood a chance anyway.” Tomkin worked his jaw, breathing through his anger. “The raid that took my parents was one of the later ones. We knew what happened in Fire Nation prisons, Zuko. We knew that waterbenders were kept in chains, that water was protected just as much as weapons. We knew that to be captured was a death sentence, a lifetime to decay in a cell. My parents knew that. They were always so brave...” 

Zuko watched Tomkin, not wanting to interrupt. The boy’s pain was palpable, was working over Zuko’s own bruises and pushing on them. 

“They were both waterbenders, but the gene skipped me somehow. Pot luck.” Tomkin tried for a smile but it was like a shattered mirror; sharp in the wrong places, distorted. “When the raid came, they realised they couldn’t hold the soldiers off. They realised before everyone else. I still remember my mom telling me...” he struggled, “telling me to go to the Chief’s tent. Kya was there, Hakoda’s wife. We lost her a few raids later. She was always nice to me; her and my mom were friends. My mom told me to stay with Kya until everything was over. While she was talking, a soldier came at us. He threw fire at my mom and I burnt my leg pushing her out the way. I guess after that, I felt I'd done my bit. I mean, I was _eleven._ " 

Tomkin sniffed, rubbing his face with his sleeve and taking a deep breath. Despite his words, Zuko knew that fear haunted him. Eleven or not, Tomkin felt he should have stayed with his mother. 

Zuko remembered waking up in the night, deciding that instead of following his clearly troubled mother, he would go back to sleep. He was eleven then, too. Eleven and stupid and it cost him everything. 

“When the raid was over, Kya brought me outside and I couldn’t find my parents. I ran to my tent and... and there they were.” Tomkin’s voice was shaking, but he didn't cry. Zuko suspected he’d cried all his tears years ago. 

“Zuko, the Fire Nation didn’t just capture people in those raids. Look at what happened to Kya. They _murdered_ her. I need you to understand that. I need you to understand that, but that’s not what happened to my parents.” 

Zuko stared in surprise, watching the boy before him. The ice of the South Pole felt like it was stabbing his heart. Sokka and Katara, the Chief’s kids, had lost their mother. The Chief had lost his wife. Zuko cursed himself for pitying them. It doesn’t do well to pity one’s enemy. 

“Then what happened to them?” Zuko whispered. 

“They made a choice, the bravest choice they could have made.” Tomkin’s words were soft enough to be caught and stolen by the breeze. “They refused to be captured, refused to be caged and taken away from the water, refused to be separated, refused to leave me. My parents sat in our home. In one hand they held each other, and in the other, they took a dagger to their heart. That's how I found them.” 

Zuko choked out a breath, his heart that had previously raced now skipping a beat. Horror crept through him, Tomkin’s words weaving into something devastating. _That's how I found them._ Tomkin, the boy who had fed Zuko, the boy who kept visiting even as Nanook stopped, the boy who smiled and listened and _gave Zuko a chance_. Tomkin had to see his own parents like that. And his parents had felt so helpless, so disgusted by the Fire Nation, that they saw no other option but to take their own lives. 

Even if the Water Tribe had been savages, Zuko realised for the first time in his life that, in this case, there was no justification for the Fire Nation’s actions. 

“I’m sorry.” Zuko whispered, but this apology was different, and Tomkin must have heard the difference because his lips parted as he stared at Zuko. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

It unlocked something in Tomkin, and suddenly, the other boy wrapped his arms around Zuko. He held him tight and his breath came out harsh in Zuko’s ear, but he _still didn’t cry_. It was like he couldn’t, like he had nothing left to give, like all of the anguish and injustice had coursed through him years ago, leaving him hollow now. 

Tomkin was a bright-eyed teenager whose smile had warmed Zuko even in a land of ice. Tomkin could so easily have made an enemy of Zuko, and he had every excuse to. But he didn’t. He chose kindness. And Zuko didn’t know what to do with that. He'd never seen a heart so abrased remain soft. Zuko knew a thing or two about tragedy, and when Tomkin suddenly spoke that language so fluently, Zuko didn’t know what to do with it. He had thought these warriors were foreign, strange, intelligible. 

He knew now that pain looked the same wherever you went. Whether that was a testament to its coherency or a telling of humanity’s fluency in it, Zuko didn’t know. He just knew that it was the one thing every nation, every citizen, every heart understood. So he stood there, a Water Tribe boy clinging to his shirt, and instead of pushing him away, Zuko desperately tried to remember how to hug someone back. 

____ 

Kanut didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel happy, either. He didn’t feel anything, and that terrified him. What kind of person was he to hear of his father’s passing, his last living relative’s death, and remain unfazed? 

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Unfazed insinuated a certain lack of thought, but Kanut _had_ thought. When Kanna uttered those four words, a single thought had surfaced, one that would haunt him. 

_At least the nightmares might stop._

Spirits, he would be cursed for that. 

“What are you doing?” Prince Zuko’s sudden voice made Kanut jump, and the healer looked up to see the now familiar moody gaze of the Fire Prince. Kanut was in the Angakkuq’s tent, which was slightly bigger than the rest of the tribe’s tents, filled with two cots and dozens of jars containing various medicines. In the middle of the space was a small stack of kindling; the tent’s fire. It was unlit. Kanut had kneeled to light it, hoping to boil some seal fat to ease his breathing a little, but had gotten lost in his thoughts. 

That was how the kid caught him; kneeling beside some logs and staring at them, like an idiot. 

“Stop gawking and make yourself useful.” Kanut grumbled, sitting back and nodding at the kindling. Zuko just stared at him like he didn’t understand. 

“Light the fire, Mr Firebender.” Kanut furthered. “Do they have a specific command for that in the Fire Nation? Ignite? Flameo, hotman-?” 

“ _Nobody_ says that.” Prince Zuko interrupted, affronted, and Kanut chuckled as the kid came to sit cross-legged beside him. “And I'm not allowed to firebend, remember?” 

The Prince looked troubled when he said that, and Kanut wondered how it went with the Chief and Kanna. Hakoda was gradually learning how to deal with the kid, learning what he did and didn’t respond to, but Kanna was a force to be reckoned with. Kanut loved that woman, but she held only resentment for the Fire Nation, and she was too old to start thinking differently just for a young upstart like Prince Zuko. She wouldn’t be kind. 

“You’re telling me? I'm not the one spitting sparks.” Kanut said, and the Prince actually clasped a hand to his mouth, before realising Kanut was joking and glaring murderously. 

“Prick.” The kid muttered with the tiniest, tiniest smile, and Kanut’s breath caught in his throat. The Fire Prince was a teenager, but this was still the first time Kanut had heard him swear. 

“What did you just say?” Kanut had meant to sound amused, proud if anything, but Prince Zuko didn’t recognise things like that, and Kanut saw horror dawn on his face as he realised Kanut had heard him. 

“I didn’t mean-.” 

Prince Zuko delved into a fast-paced explanation of how he didn’t say what Kanut thought he said, and if he had it was a joke, and that he was sorry, and Kanut really wished he’d boiled that seal fat in time because he couldn’t force the breath to leave his lungs. A terrified child unravelling before a grown man simply because he thought he stepped out of line. The familiarity was biting. Kanut felt like his father was looking down on him from the stars, laughing that haunting, drunken laugh that lacerated at Kanut every time he tried to run away. Kanut had watched Prince Zuko’s actions these past few weeks, desperately avoiding the realisation forming in his mind, but seeing it so up close was conclusive. Kanut had feared this. 

“I may be a prick," Kanut sighed with a smile, “but at least I'm not an arrogant bastard.” 

Prince Zuko froze, slowly realising that Kanut was joking with him, that Kanut wasn’t annoyed. It took him a few seconds to release his muscles from the frightened seize they’d entered, a position Kanut had himself spent hours at a time in on the bad nights, nights when he’d feel the ache of his limbs for days after. 

“My parents were married, I'll have you know.” Prince Zuko said with a swallow, testing the waters. 

Kanut swore he wasn't purposely smiling bigger to make the kid feel better, _he wasn’t_. “Oh, not an arrogant bastard then. How does arrogant _motherfucker_ sound?” 

The kid turned to the kindling, and a sudden spark of orange shot from his knuckles, a fire exploding before Kanut. Prince Zuko smiled smugly. “I can work with arrogant motherfucker." 

____ 

Zuko had not had a very nice day, he decided as he sat on one of the Southern Water Tribe’s infirmary cots, allowing a small wince with each stitch Kanut pulled free. 

For starters, he had been taken to the South Pole, where it was freezing cold and the wrong side of the world to the Avatar, amongst other things. Once this short stay in the south was over, he'd have a few more days at sea before being handed to the Earth Kingdom, which terrified Zuko, but the tactician in him knew he had to focus on the threat at hand. He had to survive the South Pole first. The day somehow got worse, because he had then found out that Lee had died because of his own lack of leadership skills. An innocent soldier, an innocent _boy_ , murdered because Zuko was a coward. Minutes after realising this, Tomkin’s arms were around Zuko’s shoulders after revealing the tragedy of his parents’ death, a tragedy that Zuko couldn’t deny was undoubtedly the fault of his own _great_ nation. And to top it all off, he had joked with one of his captors. He had sworn with him around a fire like... like friends. 

Azula would be plotting right now, would be figuring a way to use the healer’s unfounded trust to her own advantage. Father would wipe out this entire village. Zuko could try. He wasn’t a great firebender, but he was still a firebender. He could do some damage to the flammable tents and easily meltable ice before one of the warriors took him out. Father would tell him to die fighting. Father never realised that Zuko _was_ fighting. He always had been. His form of fighting was just a little quieter than Azula’s. 

“Kanut?” Zuko asked softly, staring at the furs he sat upon, at his own grimy hands. The only form of bathing on the Ullaakut was with a rag and bucket. It wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t great, and Zuko now felt coated in a thin layer of dirt. 

The healer hummed from behind Zuko. Zuko couldn’t help the panic that danced within him. As was their unspoken agreement, Zuko was facing the entrance of the tent, but Kanut was still behind him to take out his stitches. Zuko's damaged vision in his left eye was never a prominent problem, and besides he would get over it because it could have been worse and Father was merciful to allow him some sight, but in times like this, when a possible attacker was just out of view, his paranoia made everything on his left side fuzzy, and his heart began to race. 

Zuko swallowed the panic. He had questions. Questions he desperately needed answers to. 

“Tomkin told me about his parents.” 

Kanut’s hands stopped and Zuko heard the minute breath the healer sucked in. A few seconds passed and it was that steady silence that told Zuko that, regardless of Kanut’s nonchalant response, he took this conversation seriously. 

“And?” 

“And I don’t understand how he isn’t _dead_.” Zuko finally grit out. He found talking with Kanut easier than the other Tribesmen. With Kanut, he didn’t have to dance around things. They both got straight to the point. 

“What’re you talking about, tough guy? Didn't he tell you what happened?” Kanut asked, slowly setting his hands back to Zuko’s stitches, but he moved more purposely than before. 

“I know what happened, but I mean after.” Zuko said, before hesitating. He was always reluctant to talk about the Fire Nation, and what he wanted to say surpassed the mundanity of the usual scraps of information he gave Kanut, but he _needed to know_. And perhaps... maybe a little... he trusted the healer. 

“Orphans are the runts of a community, the weakest members.” Zuko said quietly, conspiringly. “In the Fire Nation, weak schoolchildren are sent to the coal mines, and weak soldiers are executed, and weak sons are-.” 

He paused, horrified by his own candour. _What_ had he been about to say? 

Zuko buried his nails in his palms and kept talking, praying to Agni that Kanut missed that slip up. “I just don’t understand how, if he was orphaned at eleven, he’s survived so long. Who took care of him?” 

Kanut was quiet for some time after that, and Zuko was happy to sit in silence for a little bit. His own thoughts were poisonous, biting things, striking him from all angles. He was exhausted. 

Finally, Zuko felt the last tug of his skin as Kanut finished removing his stitches. 

“You’re done, tough guy.” Kanut said, and something in his voice told Zuko he was just as tired as he was. Zuko slowly pulled his shirt back on as he turned to the healer. He hadn’t expected the dejected look on Kanut’s face. 

“There’s an old proverb.” Kanut said suddenly, staring at those peculiar white scars on his hands. “ _The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth._ Our Little Tom was devastated when he lost his parents. In our culture, human emotions like pain are not considered weak. Instead of turning our back on him, we took him in. Each villager did their bit in raising that poor kid. Hakoda, mainly, but also me, Bato, Kanna, Nanook, Tulok, Chena, Aput- all of us.” 

Kanut’s voice became gruff, raw. “Sixteen is the age we consider to be a warrior. It just so happened that when we were set to leave for the war, Tomkin had just turned sixteen, barely. There's an unspoken rule in the tribe that, when that happens, the parents appeal to the Chief to request their kid stay home. There is no honour in sending children into battle. But Tomkin had no parents to fight his cause, and he was desperate to stay with the crew, so despite Hakoda’s reluctance, he came along. He's our family now. A dozen different people’s little brother.” 

Kanut’s blue eyes were relentless as he stared Zuko down. “ _That_ is how he isn’t dead." 

That night, Zuko fell asleep to the sound of the village welcoming back their warriors. They danced to strange instruments, singing songs in words Zuko didn’t understand, throwing things that made their village fire surge to the stars. Zuko stayed in the tent he had been allocated, and he felt like he was relearning how to breathe. He was finally on solid – albeit cold – ground, but still, his world swayed violently. Blink, and he saw Lee’s blood. There was just so much of it and it was dripping from his hands. Blink, and he heard Tomkin’s pathetic gasps as he tried to cry. And it _was_ pathetic, in the most heart-breaking way possible. Blink, and Kanut was growling through grit teeth that _‘in our culture_...’, which was so obviously a dig at the Fire Nation. Blink, and Zuko was struggling to even defend the Fire Nation. Blink, and _there is no honour in sending children into battle_. Blink, and _I am trusting you._ Blink, and _the child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth._

Zuko knew a secret, knew something even Father and Azula didn’t know, and that was that there was an art to burning. It was more than a weapon, or a tool, or an excuse. It was an expression, the deepest telling of one's soul, their hopes and dreams and passions and fears, the most crude version of their heart. His entire life, Zuko had been snuffed out. 

Tonight, he was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just make you read an entire chapter of several different people being in several different shades of an angst crisis? Are the Tomkin fans going to murder me in my sleep? Sue me bitch I see no god up here but ME. Oh and Kanut’s proverb is actually an African proverb but I absolutely adore it and it fits so perfectly, so here you go. I'll see you nerds on Monday and I MEAN IT THIS TIME. 
> 
> Ｌｉｌ ｓｈａｗｔｙ ｔｈｅ ｂａｄｄｅｓｔ


	8. i. Choose Treachery; It's More Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT me figuring out how to link things on this hellsite. [I am too powerful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVI2QZxrifE). Because of this addition in my already shining list of abilities, I had a Thought (I know; incredible). Basically I'm a pinterest whore like every story i write gets its own board, this one included. I made it a while ago like way before I started posting on this site, but I always find it really helpful for writing and shit like fleshing out certain characters? What I'm getting at is idk if you’re maybe curious you can [check out the board](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hellababey/the-art-of-burning/) I made for this. Ignore my other boards; they’re for original works ive been writing. Feel free to hmu :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I've figured it out I've connected the two dots (Ryan Bergara?!). The upload schedule has been updated, this time with my poor impulse control taken into account. I will now post TWICE a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. I decided this last week but posted chapter 7 wednesday not thursday because I was at a ~party~ on thursday and didn’t trust myself to post this with ~alcohol in my system~ because I am a ~stupid drunk~. I'm a tiny bit worried that wanting to post twice a week will come back to bite me if I start burning out, but I trust you guys to BE NICE if I find that happening, so effectively the upload schedule is that there is no ~~war in ba sing se~~ upload schedule. Suck it up. Life's not fair <3.  
> Also the reception you guys gave chapter 6 and 7 (the ones I said I was most nervous about) has made me a sappy emotional wreck and i hate you for it. I love you all, but I hate you for it. STOP BEING SO NICE. Here's chapter 8 to appease you, again VERY character based but we love it and the entire cultural aspect of the Aurora was so interesting to write, hope you like.  
> Btw, I know you're all probably waiting for Hakoda and Zuko to FINALLY just chill the fuck out and clear the air, but I think there needs to be a period of denial and confusion first as a treat. Keep in mind the things they're coming to terms with go against everything they know, especially Hakoda lol, so chapter 7 and 8 are very much them learning to live around each other now they know what they know. That's why this chapter is based more around zuko learning to be a teen and have fun, while chapter 9 sees more Hakoda & Zuko action. Like A LOT more. it's a blast.  
> oh my GOODNESS i've missed u guys honestly this is the longest i've gone without updating this (a whole FOUR DAYS) it has been PAINFUL.
> 
> You know what's coming: Have an absolutely magnificent day I am manifesting a good day for all of you tell me if it works in the comments, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do <3 x

Winter was reaching the South Pole, which wasn’t a big deal, considering winter reached the South Pole for half of every year. It started subtly. Summer saw entire days of sunlight with nothing but clouds and twilights as a respite, but then the twilights would get longer. An hour of darkness, then two, then three. And just as there had been constant day, winter would arrive with constant night. 

Getting used to four seasons instead of two had been one of the biggest differences in Hakoda’s life when he left the village. Now, the Fire Prince was getting used to the same change Hakoda had, but reversed. 

“That sounds fake.” 

Hakoda was sat around the village campfire beside Kanut, the sky a dark navy above them despite it being lunchtime. Hakoda had spent the day with Kanut, actually. After what his mother had told him about Yutu’s death, a death Hakoda struggled to mourn, Hakoda had been worried about Kanut. Him and Bato were the only ones who could ever tell when the Angakkuq was upset, because he didn’t react as others did. He never acted sad or angry, he just... made jokes. 

“I’m telling you that’s what the book says. Firebenders rise with the sun.” 

Every month when the supplies came in, Kanna got some books. Anything that had made its way to the nearby islands, anything left behind by travellers. She never got much, usually only one or two a month, but she’d been collecting for decades, and now had a decent library in the corner of her tent. Kanut used to spend hours in there, no matter how much Hakoda and Bato – always bad influences - tried to lure him out. 

Kanna had reluctantly given Kanut a book she had on firebenders, and Kanut had taken it upon himself to educate Hakoda. 

“So he’s going to sleep until the sun comes up, that’s what you’re telling me?" Hakoda asked. He snickered at the prospect. Kanut didn’t. This was troubling. 

The context of their conversation was this; last night, Prince Zuko went to bed early, and despite his reputation as an early riser and it now being the middle of the day, he was yet to wake up. Tomkin had suggested he go get him, but Hakoda still struggled to swallow his guilt. He'd been so cold, so _stubborn_ , with the boy, and it turned out to be completely unfounded. So, he had decided to let the Fire Prince have a lie in; he was probably exhausted. 

When Hakoda made this decision, he was under the impression the Prince would _wake up_ from his lie in. Kanut suggested otherwise. 

“We could chuck water at him?” Kanut tried. 

Hakoda laughed, the village around him making him feel like a troublemaking child all over again. "Like old man Tuktu?" 

The memory made Kanut snort loudly, remembering the time one of the moody elders – who had told Hakoda, Bato and Kanut off the day before for going kayaking without permission – found himself drenched after the three of them skilfully attached a bucket of water to his tent flap. Old man Tuktu, for all his old-manliness, had still managed to chase the cackling teenagers through the village with a stick. 

“Spirits, why was he so _fast?_ ” Kanut asked. 

“Fuelled by spite?” Hakoda suggested. 

He hadn’t noticed his mother walking past until Kanna grabbed Hakoda and Kanut by their hair and knocked their heads together. 

“You boys were _awful_ to poor Tuktu!” She cried, and Hakoda couldn’t help but laugh. 

“He had it coming, miserable git that he was.” Kanut said, wincing dramatically as he rubbed his head. 

“Do not speak ill of the dead.” Kanna warned. It was an instinctive response - they had been raised to fear the wrath of their ancestors – but Hakoda didn’t miss the way his mother’s shoulders tensed as she realised what she’d said, as they both watched Kanut’s expression darken. 

“The dead don’t deserve honour simply for having died.” Kanut growled, staring into the fire. Hakoda flicked an unsettled look to Kanna. It really was a very bad idea to toe the line with Spirits like Kanut was doing, but perhaps this was grief talking? 

“The Spirits are very good at holding grudges, my boy.” Kanna said slowly, before pointing a threatening finger at Kanut. “Be careful.” 

With one last worried look between Kanut and Hakoda, she grabbed her basket of clothes and carried on her walk through the village. 

Hakoda knew that there were certain things you said to people who were mourning. _I'm sorry for your loss. They're looking down on you. They're with the ancestors now._ But Hakoda also knew Kanut, and he knew Kanut would hate to be told those things. 

So instead, Hakoda said; “Still getting told off at your big age? For shame." 

Kanut snapped from his shadowed expression, letting out a suprised laugh as he shook his head at Hakoda, who couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

That's how Chena found them. 

“You two enjoying yourselves giggling around the fire?” Chena asked with a sharp grin. 

“Very much.” Kanut said charmingly. 

“I’d ask you to join us, but from what I heard last night,” Hakoda said with conspiring, narrowed eyes, “you’re too tired for that.” 

Chena laughed shamelessly and Kanut let his face fall into his hands. This was one of the downsides to the smallness of the village; _reunions_ were very, very loud. 

The three of them joked like that – initially at Chena’s expense, but quickly at the always prude Kanut’s - for a few minutes before Chena’s expression soured. 

“Not seen much of your nephew today, Dragon of the West.” Chena said with a nod to Kanut. 

“He’s still sleeping.” Kanut said easily. “And I’ve never even been west.” 

“What would you rather we called you?” Hakoda asked with a smile. Kanut tipped his head back in thought, white hair mussing from the movement. 

“How about...” he mused, “Sea Serpent of the South?” 

Chena’s laugh was always a thundering thing that echoed through those around him, utterly contagious, and Kanut grinned, seemingly pleased with that nickname. He was acting like _nothing_ was wrong. Hakoda hated Yutu, and had been grateful when Kanut started hating him too, but he’d expected _some_ reaction to Yutu’s passing. There was a time when Kanut worshipped his father. 

“Well, Sea Serpent of the South,” Chena’s smile fell into something spiteful, “how long’s the little brat going to sleep?” 

A beat of hesitation passed between Hakoda and Kanut, but they had been covering for each other since they were boys. Kanut’s response was quick, certain. 

“I took his stitches out last night. Some patients suffer fatigue after that. I'm not surprised that he’s still in bed.” 

Chena narrowed his eyes, before nodding, satisfied. He quite literally trusted Kanut with his life; why would he question him now? 

“Well, I've got to go check in with the missus.” He said gruffly. 

Hakoda punched his leg when he walked past. “Have fun _checking in._ ” 

Hakoda waited until Chena was out of sight before turning back to Kanut. The Angakkuq’s blue eyes were smug. 

“That thing about the stitches-?” 

“Total lie.” 

“Thought so.” 

____ 

The Prince eventually woke up, staring blearily at the dark sky as he stumbled from his tent, earning a round of applause from Aput and Tulok that was met with a very piercing scowl. Hakoda quickly gave him some chores to do, and the next few hours spurred a game amongst the warriors. 

The focus? Weird places they had found Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation napping. Whoever found him in the strangest place won, the prize being Aput’s famously good five-flavour-soup and relief from pot wash for an entire month. 

It started when Kanut found the Prince curled up beside the campfire, then being challenged an hour later by Tomkin, who talked nonstop for ten minutes to Prince Zuko before realising the other boy was asleep with his hand in his soup. A joke was made by Aput, which was challenged by Chena, and suddenly, both men decided their pride was on the line, and the game became a fully-fledged competition. Nanook was the current winner. He had been sewing clothes outside his tent with his mother, telling her about his adventures on the Ullaakut these past two years, and telling her – with a fondness that surprised him - about their latest, fiery member. He’d run out of the grass blades they were using to sew skins together into shirts, and Nanook left to get some. He rounded a few corners, and there, fast asleep, leaning against a tent pole, _standing up_ , was the Fire Prince. 

Nanook gave his mother a quick excuse and softly jostled the younger boy awake. They were now sat before the snow wall surrounding the village, Tomkin joining them the moment he spotted them and bringing over a plate of food and a very heavy-looking bag. 

“Spirits, I thought I'd never get away.” Tomkin said, slightly out of breath as he collapsed to the floor. He’d always been a favourite amongst the village children and his homecoming led to them harassing him at every junction. 

“They’re drawn to your maternal aura.” Nanook teased, and Tomkin partook in his favourite pastime of throwing seal jerky at him. 

“You asleep again, Your Highness?” Tomkin asked, turning his attention to the Prince. Prince Zuko had been quieter than normal, which was very quiet indeed. Tomkin said he suspected it was because of their conversation the day before. Nanook was still shellshocked to find out how much Little Tom had revealed, telling _the Prince of the enemy nation_ all about his parents’ horrific passing. Even for Tomkin, who was notorious for his bravery when it came to his own vulnerability, that was a bit far. But Nanook was even more shocked by the Prince’s reaction. _He said sorry, Nan. A Fire Nationer said sorry. The future Fire Lord said sorry._ Tomkin had told Nanook excitedly as the other villagers had danced that night, his eyes bright and watery and _hopeful._

__“I am _not_.” Prince Zuko grumbled, offended and pointedly sitting straighter, helping himself to food as he’d learned to. _ _

__Nanook narrowed his eyes. “Are too.”_ _

__“Am not.”_ _

__“Are too.”_ _

__“ _Am not_.” _ _

__Tomkin threw seal jerky at them both. Nanook smugly saw this coming and caught the flying food. Prince Zuko, however, had found Tomkin on his left-side, and didn’t see the seal jerky until it slapped him in the face. Tomkin burst out laughing._ _

Nanook had watched the Prince closely these past few weeks. It wasn’t a surprise that a burn as horrific as the one on the Fire Prince’s face had damaged his vision somewhat. What was a surprise was how the Prince dealt with it; silently. He never complained, or requested help, or even thought it was a point of sympathy at all. Nanook's theory was that he’d had that scar for a very long time, perhaps from an incident in his childhood? Spirits knew how clumsy Nanook had been as a little boy. He couldn’t imagine the damage he might have done had he been able to wield _fire_. 

__It would explain why Prince Zuko never spoke about it. Nanook theorised he was simply too accustomed to it to notice the scar anymore. Theorising about the Fire Prince’s scar had become a bit of a pastime on the Ullaakut these past two weeks. Everyone had different ideas, from training accidents to fights with peers to Chena even suggesting it was some sick royal rite of passage. But Nanook liked his own theory. It was innocent. Not all of the theories were innocent..._ _

__“Hakoda wants me to make some more spearheads.” Tomkin said once he’d finished stuffing his face, plonking his bag between the three of them with the sound of stones clattering against each other._ _

__“And this is our problem because?” Nanook asked, already knowing what Tomkin was getting at._ _

“ _Because,_ ” Tomkin said, like it was obvious, “you’re going to help me. You know I can never get them sharp enough." 

__

__

__

__

__“I don’t think the Chief will want me around possible weapons.” Prince Zuko said quietly, still sounding on the verge of a yawn and glaring at the sky every now and then like it had betrayed him._ _

“He won’t mind.” Tomkin said, even though Nanook wasn’t so sure. 

__Prince Zuko looked bewildered, gold eyes wide. “But... But what if I take one and use it to escape? What if I stab you?”_ _

“You haven’t stabbed Tomkin yet.” Nanook pointed out. Tomkin frowned in confusion, but the Prince caught on quickly. 

Recently, Tomkin had been sneaking into the infirmary for five minutes whenever Kanut left, and for those five minutes, the razor he used on his pathetic attempt at stubble would disappear with him. Nanook didn’t know if Tomkin actually used his brain in these five minutes and shaved the Fire Prince’s head himself, or if he truly was stupid enough to let Prince Zuko do it and simply pray to the Spirits he wouldn’t turn and stab him, but Nanook always kept an ear out. It had only been happening these past few days, now Tomkin had seemingly decided he liked the Prince and trusted him to an extent, but it was still pure idiocy. 

Nanook didn’t know why he hadn’t put a stop to it, or told Hakoda. Maybe he too trusted Prince Zuko a little ... maybe. 

"I’m not going to stab someone who’s helping me.” Prince Zuko growled, like it was a preposterous thing to suggest. 

Nanook nodded. “So are you going to stab us?” 

“Well _obviously_ not,” the Prince said, “but-.” 

“Well, it’s settled then.” Tomkin said with a grin, chucking one of the stones at Zuko. The stones they used were small, the length of a hand. “Get sharpening, Your Highness.” 

Making spearheads was a practice Nanook had observed since he was a child. It was a simple process. Lumps of rock were taken from the nearby mountains and, with the use of ivory blades and hammers, they would be sharpened. For the boys of the village, it was a rite of passage. A boy who could make a spearhead that cuts the flesh when pressed was ready to move on to become a man, a _warrior_. Most of the boys managed their first spearhead by fourteen years old, which was why Nanook was mesmerised to see that Prince Zuko couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to do it. 

__The Fire Prince growled in frustration, throwing down his third lump of rock after he’d hit it too hard with the hammer and caused it to split in half._ _

__“You seem pretty distracted today...” Tomkin said quietly, not hiding his worry. The Prince was almost fuming, and Nanook meant that in the most literal way possible. At Tomkin’s words, the Prince frowned, staring at the snow as if it held all the answers to the universe. Tomkin went to say something else – he’d never been good with silence - but Nanook quickly nudged him with his foot._ _

__There was a chance Prince Zuko was finally going to open up to them about something bothering him, and Nanook wouldn’t have that ruined by Tomkin’s big mouth._ _

_______ _

Zuko had felt strange all day. He'd blamed it on his drowsiness. He'd never slept in so late before. Even on the days he wished he could, the sun simply wouldn’t allow him to. Yet now they were in the South Pole, Zuko slept through the night and all the way through until lunchtime, and he didn’t even know how the warriors _knew_ it was lunchtime, because when Zuko finally emerged from his tent, the sun was nowhere to be seen. _Disorientated_ didn't quite cover it. 

He'd been up for hours now, and still, he felt like he’d just crawled out of bed. His muscles were aching, his eyes were heavy, his head felt like it was full of clouds, and he kept drifting off. He kept drifting off, a sitting turtleduck, around the _entire Water Tribe village_. He was surprised he hadn’t woken up with a knife in his chest yet. He was finally beginning to take the Chief’s word that maybe the crewmen wouldn’t hurt him, because they needed him for General Fong, and he could tell that the way they looked at him was different now they knew he’d never led a raid, an almost indignant embarrassment, a _guilt_ , but the way Kanna and the other women looked at him... It was hatred in its purest form. 

“I’m _fine_.” Zuko hissed when Tomkin kept asking if he was alright and why he was so distracted. Taking a deep breath and pushing away his frustration, Zuko picked up his fourth lump of rock. He couldn’t even sharpen a piece of rock right. He couldn’t do _anything_ right. He couldn’t do anything right and, because of his incompetence, Lee was dead. 

__“You don’t look fine.” Nanook said softly, always more observant than Tomkin. Zuko just glared at him, about to instinctively lash out, before he hesitated. Yesterday, in a blind moment of desperation, Zuko had asked Kanut for help in understanding something. Kanut hadn’t told him he was stupid, or overstepping his boundaries. Kanut's hand hadn’t come down hard across Zuko’s face, a lesson in the form of the metallic taste of blood. Kanut had simply... talked. And it helped._ _

__If Zuko could brave asking questions from a grown man, surely he could take on two kids?_ _

“There was a soldier on my ship.” Zuko said, voice quiet, _weak_. “He was young, inexperienced, a terrible bender, but he was still under my command. When your crew got on deck, he died in the melee. I'm the reason our two ships fought that day. I'm the reason that soldier died.” 

There was something even more harrowing in saying the words out loud, like how Zuko had sat in the Chief’s tent, body shaking as he choked out _I killed Lee._ It was last night’s never-ending sleep that Zuko had wanted to wake up from the most. His mind had been so cruel. He saw the Erlong sinking, Lee’s body drifting, being lost to the waves. Water was no burial for a firebender. And all Zuko had left was a pai sho tile and a red ribbon, which was more than Lee’s family, who would have nothing but a military issued letter sent to a dozen different homes thanking them for their contribution to the war. Uncle's words reiterated in Zuko’s mind. _The men on that ship have fathers too, and brothers and sisters and children and wives._ One man’s death ricocheted into a cacophony of pain, and Zuko had caused it. 

__“What was his name?” Tomkin asked, eyes wide and sad. Zuko wanted to be cynical, but he knew Tomkin well enough now to know that this news did genuinely sadden him. He didn’t enjoy anyone's death, Fire Nation or otherwise._ _

__“Lee.” Nanook whispered, and Zuko’s heart twisted. It was such a simple name, sounding peculiar on a Water Tribesman’s tongue. Zuko's golden eyes must have begged the question, because Nanook carried on talking, a little sheepishly. “You said his name a lot, when we were both in the infirmary."_ _

__Back when the Water Tribe were the savage enemy and Zuko thought he was the victim. He deserved this. All of it._ _

__“Look, I get you’re the Prince and all,” Tomkin said with a sudden ferocious honesty, so ferocious it was almost angry, “but it’s unfair that you were put in charge of that ship. It's too much responsibility. I’m older than you and I couldn’t have done it. It wasn’t your fault.”_ _

__“He’s right, Zuko.” Nanook added, and Nanook had never tried the casualness that came with Zuko’s name on its own. It gave his simple words a weight, a weight that pushed at Zuko’s shoulder blades, as if an invisible hand was pushing him to his knees. Tomkin and Nanook were trying to make him feel better, which was sweet, but it wasn’t helping. Nothing could help. It was his fault. It was all his fault._ _

__But Zuko knew from Uncle that sometimes people worried too much, and whether it made him weak or not, Zuko knew he didn’t want Tomkin and Nanook to worry, so he cracked a small smile that made Tomkin’s entire face light up._ _

__“Thanks.” Zuko said, looking down at his hands as he focussed on the spearheads. In the glow of the nearby campfire, Zuko swore his hands looked red. The sight made his heart race. He managed a few more minutes before he knew he’d have to try meditating, or anything that made his body feel less like it was about to fall apart._ _

__In hindsight, trying to mediate with an audience of two curious teenage boys was a bad idea, and Zuko quickly found himself teaching the Water Tribesmen how firebenders settle their chi._ _

_______ _

__“Chief, do you really think it’s a good idea to put spearheads in our prisoner’s hands?” Tulok asked, watching with narrowed eyes from a distance away as Prince Zuko sat with Tomkin and Nanook. The three seemed to be partaking in some peculiar exercise, with their legs crossed and hands in their laps in a strange position._ _

“It's not like I _told_ Little Tom to bring spearheads to the Prince of the Fire Nation.” Hakoda argued through grit teeth. He had thought supplying weapons to the prisoner was an obvious no go, but Tomkin’s mind worked in strange ways. 

__“Shall I stop it?” Chena asked, because as tough as he tried to act, they all had a fierce protection over Little Tom. That combined with Chena’s dislike of Prince Zuko saw him now standing rigidly, not taking his grey eyes off the boys._ _

__Hakoda remembered again the Prince’s revelation yesterday. There was something haunting the young boy, something to do with someone called Lee. Hakoda knew he shouldn’t care, and he certainly shouldn’t be worried, but he couldn’t help it. Now he had no real reason to hate Prince Zuko, it was very difficult not to just see him as a lost teenage boy in desperate need of guidance._ _

__“No, they’ll be alright. I don’t think they’re even sharpening anymore.” Hakoda said._ _

__“I don’t like it, Hakoda.” Kanna said, eyes narrowed. She had been very vocal about her ideas for how to truly deal with a prisoner like Prince Zuko, ideas that involved chains and cruelty and everything Hakoda wasn’t willing to do._ _

__“I know, mom.” Hakoda sighed, looking down to meet his mother's gaze. "But I think me and the Prince are finally understanding each other."_ _

__“And Kanut?” She asked, quieter. Hakoda tapped his fingers against his thigh. Kanut had disappeared to read. Kanut read because it calmed his thoughts. Kanut was reading a lot since they came south._ _

“You know what he’s like. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. I can't do anything but wait for him to figure out how he feels. If I'm being honest, I don’t even think he _cares_.” 

__It made sense. Kanut used to love his father and thought everything Yutu did to him was his own fault. Then Kanut turned to hating his father with a passion that was almost jarring. Finally, when out at sea, Kanut seemed to gain some peace, and became utterly impartial. It made sense if Kanut felt nothing at his father’s passing. He didn’t owe his father his grief._ _

__“I think even Kanut believes that,” Kanna said with a sigh, “but it isn’t the truth.”_ _

__Hakoda didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t like the shiver that traced over him. It was unsettling._ _

__“What do you mean?” He asked, and Kanna closed her eyes, as if remembering something._ _

“Kanut’s way of survival has been to lock himself up. It's how he dealt with Yutu, and I'm sure you remember it’s how he dealt with us when we first got to know him.” Kanna said, and Hakoda did remember. Kanut had never wanted anyone’s help. He was determined to fight his own battles and, as a child, the prospect of being taken away from his father terrified Kanut. He was so desperate for a relationship with him, and he would have fought anyone who got in the way. It took _years_ for Kanut to truly open up to Kanna, and even longer for him to allow a real semblance of friendship with Hakoda and Bato past just hanging out. 

__“But now, he has locked up any emotion he ever had for his father.” Kanna continued sadly. “Good and bad, he has shoved it all deep inside of him. Yutu's death should have stirred it, but it seems Kanut’s will is stronger than I anticipated.”_ _

__“Surely that’s a good thing, if he isn’t upset?” Hakoda asked. Kanna shook her head._ _

__“He must think so, but pain and grief are part of life, Hakoda. He must feel the things he experiences, and he must feel them in their entire inferno. Kanut needs to grieve his father, whether Yutu deserves that or not. He needs to grieve."_ _

But Kanut was stubborn, they both knew it. It would take a miracle for something in Kanut to finally unlock after decades of burying his feelings. It would take words Hakoda couldn’t pronounce. He knew that. He knew he had never experienced anything close to what Kanut had. His parents had adored him, his mother had barely ever raised her voice at him, and his father certainly never took a hand to him. Hakoda couldn’t speak of a pain he'd never felt. He couldn’t help Kanut. All he could do was remain by his friend’s side, but _that_ at least was something he knew he could do. Until his dying breath. 

__Hakoda looked to the sky, wanting to change the subject. “Will we see the lights while we’re here, do you think?”_ _

__Kanna copied him, squinting. She knew all of the tricks to reading the skies, as was the wisdom of an elder. After a few seconds, she looked to Hakoda._ _

__“Whether Kanut likes it or not, the ancestors will visit us soon.”_ _

_______ _

__“I’m more relaxed than you.” Tomkin said._ _

__“You can’t meditate if you’re talking." Zuko berated, quickly regretting agreeing to teach the two boys. They were sat in a circle, each with their hands before their chests, one palm up, the other in a fist against it._ _

__“Then why are you talking?” Tomkin asked. Zuko cracked open one of his eyes. Tomkin's position was poor, and he kept bouncing his leg, a lopsided grin on his lips. Nanook, however, was concentrating a little too hard, and looked in pain._ _

__“I’m talking because you keep talking-.”_ _

__“Both of you shut up.” Nanook snapped, very much trying to focus._ _

__“He just said not to talk, Nan!” Tomkin goaded._ _

__“Shut the fuck up I'm trying to achieve nirvana.”_ _

__“Still talking.”_ _

Nanook’s blue eyes flashed open and he wrestled Tomkin to the floor before the smaller boy had the chance to move, sending Tomkin into a fit of giggles. Zuko gave up, releasing his position with an irritated sigh. But despite his impatience, he didn’t mind the distraction Tomkin and Nanook presented. It wasn’t meditation, but their company _had_ calmed him. Was there a name for that? 

__“So did we meditate?"_ _

“It’s not something you _complete_.” Zuko growled, deciding maybe they hadn’t calmed him as much as he thought. Tomkin laughed harder, and Nanook inelegantly rolled off him, sitting up with a grin. Tomkin didn’t get up, instead staring at the sky, his laughter slowly quieting, his eyes widening in wonder. 

__“Zuko?” Tomkin asked, a sudden sense of urgent excitement to his tone._ _

__“What?” Zuko grumbled._ _

__“Have you colonised or committed any mass murders recently?”_ _

Zuko blinked in surprise, stuttering over how he could possibly answer that. He settled for a gasped; “ _No?_ ” 

__“Good,” Tomkin grinned evilly, before pointing to the sky, “because the Aurora’s here.”_ _

_______ _

Kanut’s earliest memory was of falling into the ice. Aglus, they're called. The holes created by puffin-seals so that they can surface for air when swimming beneath miles of ice. The villagers fished from them. When Kanut was five, his father took him fishing, and it was nice, and Kanut had been so desperate to catch a fish to impress Yutu. Too desperate. He leaned too far, tried too hard. The ice had snatched him up and the water was the kind of cold that _burned_. He'd never felt a cold like that, like it was stabbing every inch of his skin. 

__This was the part of the story where Yutu was supposed to heroically dive in after him, but that was not what happened. Yutu was drunk. Yutu wasn’t concentrating. Kanut survived because he clawed his own way out, panting and trembling as if that might offer him some warmth. He reached for his father, but Yutu just slid a lazy, reddened stare to his son._ _

__“Why’re you all wet?” He’d slurred, and the cold remained, even when Kanut returned home and his mother fussed over him, the other villagers well accustomed to treating hypothermia. The cold remained for many years after. Sometimes, Kanut wondered if that fall in the ice had done something to him, had frozen his heart. He'd never been as empathetic as others. When men were brought to his infirmary crying out in pain, Kanut never flinched._ _

__And now his father was dead, and he didn’t care._ _

_Lightning generation is an advanced sub-skill within firebending that allows the user to produce lightning by separating the positive and negative energies internally, before directing it up through the arm and out the fingertips._ Kanut’s eyes flickered over the words of the Fire Nation book Kanna had given him, the pages a childish comfort against his calloused fingers. _The technique is extremely precise and deadly and is referred to by some as the "cold-blooded fire”. For centuries, the skill of lightning generation was so rare that few even knew that it was possible at all._

He kept reading until the words swam before him, the cot of the Angakkuq’s tent growing softer and softer around him. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but soon, his eyes slid shut. It wasn’t darkness that met him. It never was. His father had always had the most jarring green eyes; peculiar for a Water Tribesman. Green and bloodshot and _glaring_. That was what Kanut saw when he slept. 

__“Kanut?”_ _

__But that voice was too uncertain to be Yutu’s. Kanut stirred from his nap, blinking away his grogginess._ _

__“Sorry," Prince Zuko said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”_ _

__“You didn’t wake me.” Kanut shoved into a sitting position, rubbing his face. “I’m wide awake.”_ _

__Prince Zuko looked at his bleary expression. "Clearly."_ _

__Kanut threw his pillow at him, and was relieved when the brat just grinned and ducked._ _

__“What do you want, tough guy?” Kanut asked, quickly pushing his book out of the kid’s sight and hauling himself to his feet, gravitating towards the jars containing the tea leaves._ _

__“I was just...” The Prince trailed off, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him. He really was terrible at asking for things. “I was wondering...”_ _

__“Just say what you need, kid." Kanut said breezily, focussing on the tea._ _

__“A coat.” The Prince finally spluttered out. “Please. If you have one spare.”_ _

__Kanut shook his head, trying to hide his grin at Prince Zuko’s antics. A Prince that didn’t know how to demand things, it was annoyingly endearing._ _

__“I've got a smaller one that might fit your scrawny ass in the chest there. Why'd you need a coat all of a sudden?” Kanut said, relishing in the Fire Prince’s glare upon being called scrawny as he stomped to Kanut’s chest, gratefully picking out one of his anoraks. He'd even learnt to stop scrunching his nose at the Water Tribe clothing now._ _

__“Apparently you can see the rainbow better out on the ice. Tomkin and Nanook are taking me.” Prince Zuko explained, pulling on the anorak. Kanut couldn’t help but snort, earning himself a staple Fire-Prince-murderous-glare. The sleeves fell past his hands, and the hood completely drowned his face when it was raised._ _

__“The rainbow?” Kanut turned to place the kettle over the fire._ _

__“Tomkin says it’s called the Aurora."_ _

Kanut dropped the kettle, water splashing to the floor and down his legs. He cursed loudly, stopping when the Prince jumped back a step, and quickly picked up the kettle. Blasted thing. What was _wrong_ with him? He'd seen the Aurora every winter since he was old enough to form memories. He'd always loved watching the colours dance across the sky, feeling first his grandparents’ gaze, and then his poor sister’s after she finally succumbed to hypothermia, and finally, his sweet, passive mother’s. So why did he suddenly feel the familiar creeping chill of terror on his skin? 

__“Are you alright?” Prince Zuko asked, gold eyes wide._ _

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Kanut hissed. “You said Nan and Little Tom are taking you, huh? You know, you can say _no_ to those two. They're formidable together, but it is possible to deny them.” 

__The prince seemed to believe Kanut was fine, and allowed a small smile at his teasing._ _

__“They’re not so bad.”_ _

__The terror left Kanut a moment. “What’s this? The Fire Brat’s actually making friends?”_ _

__Prince Zuko sneered, but there was a softness on him that he didn’t usually have. He shrugged awkwardly, like he was embarrassed, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet._ _

__“He reminds me of how my sister used to be.”_ _

__“Little Tom?” Kanut asked, confused._ _

__“Nanook.”_ _

__Kanut hadn't heard about Prince Zuko’s sister. He hadn’t even known he had a sister. The kid wasn’t exactly an open book, and Kanut didn’t know much about the Fire Nation royal family aside them being assholes. What Kanut did know was that there was something deeply complex in the kid’s eyes when he spoke of his sister, not quite love, not quite hate._ _

__“In what sense?" Kanut asked._ _

__“It’s stupid."_ _

__“I’ll decide that. Come on, tough guy, tell me." Kanut badgered, because it suddenly mattered a lot._ _

__Prince Zuko toed the floor, before sighing. “Just... Nanook’s clever, I can tell, and he’s observant. When Azula was younger, that’s what she was. She wasn’t cruel, or sadistic, or desperate for Father’s attention. She was just a smart little girl, and we’d have fun together and she always noticed things I didn’t and we’d talk and talk and-.” Prince Zuko cut himself off, as if remembering where he was. “I don’t know, it’s stupid.”_ _

__Kanut didn’t think it was stupid. He thought it was heart-breaking. Whatever had become of Azula, whatever their father’s coldness had mutated her into, it wasn’t the little girl Prince Zuko had loved._ _

__“You miss her?” Kanut asked. The Prince scoffed._ _

“She isn’t _dead_.” 

__“That’s not what I asked.”_ _

__The Prince turned rigid, lips parting, before slowly nodding his head. “I guess I just think it’s a waste.” He whispered. He always whispered when he was talking about things he thought he shouldn’t, and he always thought he shouldn’t be talking about his feelings. “We were so close growing up, but that’s gone now. It's just a wasted relationship.”_ _

Prince Zuko sighed, blushed, thanked Kanut for the coat and left quickly, as was his way when accidentally sharing a piece of himself. Kanut didn’t chase him. Kanut didn’t say anything. Because those few words had absolute seized him. _It's just a wasted relationship._ Kanut's heart was shrivelling in his chest and he clutched at his own skin, gasping as he grasped one of the tent poles to keep himself upright. And it was like a dam in his mind had burst, drowning his thoughts until they all swam loose, thoughts he’d so desperately spent decades packing behind that dam of his, thoughts he’d streamed away and ignored. But his mind was now a flood and he couldn’t ignore it. He was just so _angry_ at his father for everything he did but mostly everything he didn’t do. He was angry at his father for having the nerve to leave before they could fix things. Because now, Kanut was left with a broken, _wasted_ relationship with his father, and there was nothing he could do about that now. And it was a fucking tragedy and it was all his father’s fault. 

And even though he was angry and hurt, Kanut found himself smiling, tipping back his head. Because finally, finally, _he felt something._

_______ _

All day, Zuko had felt half-awake, fatigued, _flat_. Now, the horizon was orange and red. The sun was finally about to poke its head out, and Zuko felt his muscles trill in anticipation, an almost electric current going through him as he truly woke up. 

Tomkin grinned at him, before grabbing Zuko and Nanook’s arms and dragging them after him. “Let’s _go!_ ” 

__It didn’t last._ _

“Where do you three think you’re going?” The Chief asked, and Zuko froze in place, leaving Tomkin’s momentum to surge forward as he stumbled, saved by Nanook, who seemed accustomed to catching his clumsy friend. The Chief was stood before one of the tents they’d just run past, arms crossed over his chest. He towered over them all, and Zuko had _argued_ with him yesterday. And yet, all day, the Chief had treated him normally, and Zuko kept catching his blue stare from across the village. He looked at Zuko like he couldn’t understand something. 

__“We wanted to take Zuko on the ice to see the Aurora. He doesn’t even know what it is." Tomkin said, bouncing excitedly on his heels, that last sentence said insultingly, like he still couldn’t believe Zuko was oblivious to something so obvious._ _

__“And you get to decide where the prisoner goes now, do you Little Tom?” The Chief asked with a raised eyebrow. There was an expression on his face that Zuko couldn’t understand, one that made Nanook chuckle, so it couldn’t have been too bad._ _

__“Sorry, I'll go to my tent-”_ _

“Oh, come _on_ , Chief!” Tomkin interrupted Zuko’s mumbling. “You’ve all been horrible to him because of something he didn’t even do – don't look so offended, Nanook, you aren’t excused – and now you find out he’s perfectly innocent and you’re still treating him like some villain. It isn’t _fair!_ " 

Zuko stared at Tomkin in surprise. He had just defended him. A Water Tribesman had defended him, the Fire Prince. The Fire Prince was being defended by a Water Tribesman. He, a prisoner, was being defended by one of his captors. He was being _helped_. And Zuko struggled to move his gaze to the Chief, because he was absolutely terrified, and he was absolutely terrified _for_ Tomkin. 

“I guess you’re right." The Chief said, and there was that _look_ again. Zuko forgot to breathe. Then, the Chief pulled a mischievous smile. “Off you go, all of you. Don’t be gone too long or I’ll be sending out a search party.” 

__He went to walk away, before turning and looking directly at Zuko. “And no, Your Majesty, that wasn’t a threat, that was aimed at all three of you. I don’t need you all going missing in a snowstorm.”_ _

__Tomkin and Nanook high-fived and Zuko was being grabbed and led after them again, his feet barely moving in time._ _

“And it’s Your _Highness!_ ” Nanook called behind them, laughing loudly, and just like that, the three boys raced through the village. The air finally began to move through Zuko’s lungs again, cold and scraping away at his insides like he was being emptied and filled with something else, something new, something he rather liked. A shy smile grew on his face, and he ran to match Tomkin and Nanook. 

The Chief had told Zuko he was trusting him, and Zuko thought that meant what it always had; that he was being given another weight he was too weak to bear. But now, he saw the look the Chief had donned all day, he saw the humour in his smile, he saw the affection he gave Tomkin and Nanook turning almost instinctively to Zuko, and he started to think that, maybe, _trust_ meant something else in the Water Tribe. Maybe trust was less a burden, and more a prize that was earned. Maybe, Zuko had finally earned it. 

Maybe it was alright that he began to grin as he raced the others to the ice, sprinting past the tents and the snow wall embracing the village, Nanook telling him and Tomkin they were going to slip if they didn’t slow down, the two boys in fierce competition anyway. Competition that wasn't dangerous, wasn’t hinged on his honour. Competition that was just _fun_. And Zuko knew regardless of what Nanook said that he wouldn’t slip. His feet were sure and his heart roared, muscles that had been cooped in a ship for weeks finally being worked free. In that moment, he could run for miles. 

__And then the orange of the horizon exploded into a ribbon of colour, a rainbow of red and blue and pink that danced across the sky, bouncing against the stars. Zuko realised the sun had never been about to rise, but he’d never felt more awake._ _

_______ _

__In the light blue hues of the Aurora, Tomkin saw his mother’s smile, her hands in his hair as she slowly worked it into a braid. Blue, the colour of her bending. The colour she died for. His father; the interwoven cobalt. Darker, firmer, and with a laugh like the thin streams he took Tomkin to as a boy. There never was a blue like it._ _

_______ _

__Pink, twirling and toiling above the ice. Passionate and warm, the colour of love. In it, Nanook felt his childhood best friend’s hand in his. Uki had been a brilliant girl, but the South Pole could be so harsh to its inhabitants. At fifteen, Nanook hugged her goodbye as he had done so many times before, watched her walk out onto the ice, and had never seen her again. Lost in a snowstorm._ _

__Some days, he feared poor Uki’s soul had been damned to wander the ice, desperately trying to find her way home. The pink hold of the Aurora consoled him. Uki was with him, always. Nanook had dreamed of their friendship blossoming, dreamed of how her lips would feel against his._ _

__He imagined it felt like this._ _

_______ _

__Aput had always considered himself lucky. His parents still lived, content in their old-age. His brother fought by his side up until recently when they separated in Chameleon Bay, swearing to see one another again soon. His wife loved him firmly, and his children were bright and strong. Aput was lucky. The harsh blade of death was yet to strike him anywhere intimate. Still, as he watched the Aurora, he closed his eyes and prayed, feeling the deep black of the sky behind. His ancestors watched over him, their Spirits guiding his own. He prayed that death would be kind, peaceful, to whoever it struck. He prayed he would be ready._ _

_______ _

__Chena felt the yellowish-white ribbon above him curling, all bright and blinding and electric, like lightning. In it, his firstborn’s quick hands as she grabbed for all the things she shouldn’t. Chena felt his nerves awaken with the focus of a father. It was a terrible thing, to lose a child. There had been a simple cure to the illness that seized her, one that came in monthly with the supplies. Except that was the month a Fire Nation ship was spotted, right around when the supplies came in. They were delayed by a week. It was too late by then._ _

__Chena's anger was like lightning too._ _

_______ _

Tulok used the Aurora to wish well the men killed by his own hand. He took no joy in violence. As a boy, he had been a terrible hunter; too hesitant. But for his tribe, his family, Tulok would fight. In a war, there was precious little choice. That didn’t mean he didn’t remember how loud Fire Nation armour was as it clattered to the floor. A bland brown, like the colour tinging the edges of the Aurora. In two years, Tulok had killed three men. He didn’t know their names. _We are at war,_ he would tell himself on the nights he heard their cries, _we are at war, we are at war._ But in his heart was the boy who hesitated when hunting. He had been raised to believe that every life mattered, from the people around him to the animals they killed to survive. Golden eyes didn't change the humanity of a life. 

__He didn’t know how to truly release a Fire Nationer’s Spirit; he didn’t know their customs. He just prayed, and prayed he hadn’t damned them._ _

_______ _

__Kanna had a friend, many years ago, who adored the colour purple. She had a hat, knitted by her mother, that she wore everywhere. Kanna teased and teased her for it, but it brought her friend joy, which in turn brought her joy. Kanna's friend was gone now. Knowing what Kanna knew of the Fire Nation, she hoped her friend was up there dancing amongst the purple hues of the Aurora._ _

__Hama had always been so strong._ _

_______ _

One of the signs of summer was when grass shoots managed to grow past the snow, a patch of it near the mountains. In such a pale landscape, that green was enough to make the heart race. Green, the colour of life, the colour of hope, the colour of _Kya_. But one colour was too little for Hakoda’s beloved Kya. She was the entire rainbow, and she raced across the clouds, her vibrance laughing at him as the questions dashed his mind. _What do I do?_ No matter how tall he stood, he couldn’t quite reach her. 

_______ _

__Kanut read a book once that supposed the Aurora was caused by the sun when it created a special type of energy, one that produced light. It had been a scandalous thing to read, but now, he felt some comfort in it. The red might just have been energy. It wasn’t rage, or blood, or hatred. It was just energy, just a visual spectacle._ _

__So why, as Kanut stared unblinking at the sky, did he feel his father’s hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in a little too tight? Red was the smell of rum. Red was the cramped tent he could never leave. Red was the taste in his mouth as he hit the floor. Red, red, red._ _

__Kanut breathed in deep, and when the tears pricked his eyes, it took a lot of contemplation before he decided to let them free. His father was dead, and that upset Kanut. This was his confession. He held that rage, that blood, that hatred in his fists, clenched tight, and then he let it all go._ _

__Red was the few times Kanut had seen Yutu smile, and he released his father’s Spirit to the next world. He would grant him peace, and nothing more._ _

_______ _

Every inch of Zuko’s skin burned and he couldn’t keep still, spinning with his head tipped back to try and see the lights better. They were mesmerising, blurring and twirling through the sky in a collage of colours. There was something holy here that Zuko was missing. This wasn’t his faith. Yet, the electricity in his blood had to be _something_. A day of sleeping and _finally_ , he didn’t feel tired. He felt like he did when the sun was at its zenith. He felt like ten times more than that. He felt completely energised. This was what the Fire Sages described Sozin’s Comet to feel like. Power. Pure and raw and exhilarating. 

The Aurora lasted less than an hour, the sky fading back to black. Tomkin, Nanook and Zuko walked back to the village. Zuko‘s tiredness returned, the feeling like all of his clothes were wet and he was being forced to trudge around in them. He tried to listen to Tomkin’s incessant rambling as they sat around the village campfire, but Tomkin just talked so _fast_... 

_______ _

__Some time later, the rest of the villagers emerged to gather around the campfire, as was their way before bed. There was a debate between Aput and Chena regarding who got there first – apparently, it was Chena – as the warriors arrived to see three sleeping teenagers. Prince Zuko was in the middle, and his head had slipped to rest comfortably on Nanook’s shoulder, Nanook himself fast asleep and propped up by an elbow. None of the warriors wanted to comment on how peaceful the Fire Prince looked like that, how his burn seemed equally more and less harsh when there was no scowl to accompany it. Tomkin had his legs thrown over the Prince’s, but stirred at the sound of noise._ _

Upon seeing the shocked stares, Tomkin smiled. “You guys have no idea how _warm_ firebenders are.” 

_______ _

__When Zuko grumbled awake, the warriors were looking at him strangely, but then again, they had all been looking at him strangely since they came south. Loud voices and laughter filled the night. Some gloating was exchanged, and peculiarly, so was a bowl of soup._ _

__Zuko didn’t ask._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just guys being dudes. Chena is an absolute horndog. Kanut blushes if you squint real hard. Hakoda and kanut solidarity in protecting zuko. you absolutely LOVE to see it. ‘omg it’s happening’ type beat what’s the procedure everyone. Also, Kanut is having an azula level breakdown without the psychosis. We love him for it.  
> A big ‘ur the love of my life’ award going to Ardoa88 for coming up with ’sea serpent of the south’, it’s exactly what Kanut needed.  
> So like i've said before, the entire stay in the South Pole is VERY character orientated, so if you’re here for the plot, sorry but you’re going to have to wait because everybody’s emotions are a MESS and I needed some time to sort them each out individually, what with Kanut, Zuko, Hakoda AND Tulok all having things to be thinking about. There should be like 2 or 3 more chapters here idk; i'm still deciding whether to cut one of the chapters in half or not. So to bide time expect lots of what u read in this chapter aka cultural exploration, comedy relief from your favourite duo Tom and Nan, and a sprinkling of angst


	9. i. Fire And The Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay lads I have some things I need to say for starters this has over 10,000 hits and over 1,000 kudos. Do you understand how much that has literally fucked me up???? The fact that you guys are just out here actively reading and ENJOYING my work? No I’m not fucking crying mind your business. Secondly, I definitely didn’t break my laptop it just happened to stop working after SOMEONE (idk who definitely not me at all) dropped it so I’m posting this from my phone lmao. This shouldn’t mean any problems for you guys but my responses to comments might take a lil longer. Ofc I will ALWAYS respond to every single comment, but just might take me longer than normal. Hopefully my laptop will be fixed before Monday’s upload because this is Not The One. Final point and the one I’m arguably most shaken up about is the fact this work HAS FANART NOW. LIKE REALLY GOOD FUCKINF FANART. I’m running out of characters but they’re linked below and I’m so honoured I love you all so much okay bye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Artwork That Literally Deserves To Be In The Louvre (I’d link them properly but we all know I can barely figure this site out on my laptop let alone on my phone pls forgive me):  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977805
> 
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/1GPizEB5nsFbnhgQjZFvJbmC7vipGiWqn/view?usp=drivesdk
> 
> By some of my favourite people who have consistently posted long comments on each chapter, instantly making me smile every damn time <3
> 
> Okay hey bitches we’re back with chapter 9!!! Better known as the one where the Water Tribe’s lack of knowledge on the Fire Nation leads to a serious understatement, Zuko is taught how to hunt and then says no thanku <3 , the warriors bitch worse than a group of teenage girls, Zuko swallows his terror of the warriors JUST to be a feminist, oh and tom and nan are genuine IDIOTS; not necessarily in that order. This chapter is part 1 of a Big Deal folks. Strap the FUCK in and grab some tissues. It's going to be a bumpy ride. Also, can someone PLEASE get Tom Nook some braincells like even just ONE I’ll make them share it I'm BEGGING they’re causing so much trouble. You’ll know what I mean at the end. I get their assumptions are logical and everything, but come ON guys. I expect this from tomkin, but nanook you have disappointed me. JUST when Zuko and Hakoda finally started Bonding...
> 
> I love u all so much keep brightening my week with ur annoying comments have a nice day and Don’t Do Anything I Wouldn’t Do xx
> 
> P.S PLEASE remember about my stupid twat of a laptop I am not ignoring anyone I will always respond to any comment I’m just a useless clumsy shithead so replies will be slower okay bye-

The caribou-yak were finishing their fall migration, passing just a few miles away from the village. Stumbling upon caribou-yak was the only real way of hunting them. No hunter could hope to keep up with the relentless pace of the large beasts, and the snow and harsh winds covered their tracks as soon as they were made. Luck and perseverance were needed, but the rewards were bountiful. Caribou-yak were a village favourite, and as the men dressed and readied to leave, Hakoda couldn’t help but grin.

He'd missed hunting. It was a necessity in the south, but it was also something he enjoyed. Getting food from ports was easy, but he never knew where the food came from, and could never properly wish well the souls of the animals. This was the only true way to eat, and the warriors buzzed in excitement.

“Struggling, little arnaq?” Chena goaded, grey eyes on the Prince. There were seven of them gathered inside the igloo that held all their equipment. Prince Zuko was currently wrestling on a pair of mukluks, glaring at the boots like they had questioned his honour. Hakoda had considered leaving him behind with the rest of the crew, but he decided he liked being able to keep an eye on Prince Zuko. He wasn’t _protecting_ him, but Kanna hated the boy so much, and Hakoda had been itching for a chance to talk with the Prince since he found out he wasn’t actually evil. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. _Sorry_ wasn’t right, but neither was pretending everything was normal. 

Hakoda’s conscience wasn’t eased by watching Prince Zuko grapple with Sokka’s old mukluks.

At Chena’s commentary, the Fire Prince glared murderously. “I don’t even know what that _means_.”

“You know, ‘arnaq’.” Nanook said with a smirk as he sharpened his spear. “Its direct translation is just ’girl’."

“Is that it?” Prince Zuko asked, unimpressed. Chena drew himself up, almost self-conscious of his insulting abilities.

“You happy to act like some weak, flowery little girl then, kid?” He sneered.

Zuko seemed to be remembering somebody, and his voice was strong when he spoke, the kind of strong that makes teasing look childish. A leader’s strength.

“Is that how you speak of your mothers and sisters? Do you see _them_ as inferior?” Prince Zuko asked. “Men like you are the reason girls aren’t allowed to be weak. They’re raised to be tough. They tend to wind up stronger than most men.”

A few hisses and chuckles sounded from the others, Chena looking close to popping a blood vessel. If Hakoda trusted Chena not to punch the Fire Prince, he would have stared longer at Prince Zuko. Respect coursed through him for this young boy, but it was more than that. Because of how terrified he knew the Fire Prince was of them all, because he knew what it cost him to speak up, because of how long it had taken him to relax even minutely around them, Hakoda also felt a crooked pride burn within him. 

“He’s right there, Chena.” Hakoda grinned, slapping a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take your sexist, flowery ass outside?”

Chena breathed in deep, nodded at his Chief, and stormed out without hurting anyone. Tulok shook his head with a chuckle.

“Moron.” He muttered, returning to packing a bag with freeze-dried cucumberquats and kale cookies.

Hakoda, Chena, Tulok and Aput walked in a pack through the snow, spears low, footsteps steady. Little Tom ran excitedly up ahead, with Nanook hanging back to chat to the Fire Prince. Kanut had stayed in the village. Being the healer meant he was relieved of certain other duties, like hunting. This morning, he had smiled at Hakoda, and said it would be a good day. Hakoda didn’t know what he meant by that. All he knew was that his friend finally looked settled. He wasn’t okay, that much was clear, but he was working on it, which was more than yesterday.

“He seems to be fitting right in.” Chena said with a growl, flicking a look behind him at Prince Zuko.

“I think it’s good that Little Tom’s finally hanging out with kids his age.” Aput said with a shrug.

“Nan’s his age." Chena mumbled rather childishly, making Aput snicker.

"Nan’s the _only_ one his age,” Aput pointed out, “and the Spirits know Nan has the mental fortitude of an elder.”

“I think it’s good for all three of them.” Hakoda interjected. “There’s something going on with the Prince, something he isn’t telling us. Kanut thinks so too. It does no harm for him to just act like a teenager; I don’t think he’s been able to in the past.”

There was silence for a while as the other adults thought, before Chena huffed.

“That’s all well and good. I’m no monster, Chief, I get he’s just a kid.” Chena said, grey eyes suddenly serious. “But he’s a _Fire Nation_ kid. Royalty, at that. It isn’t the same. Let his father raise him.”

But Kanut had told Hakoda he didn’t think the Fire Lord’s parenting methods were the best. How he’d come to that conclusion and what exactly he meant by that, Hakoda didn't know. What Hakoda did know, however, was that Prince Zuko was terrified of him and was always waiting for a blow that never came. Hakoda had thought it was because of the threats given to the Prince when they first met, threats regarding broken legs and cut off hands and being thrown overboard that now made Hakoda cringe a little, or maybe the impending transfer to General Fong that Hakoda no longer felt proud of, but Kanut seemed to think it was more than that.

“I think his father _has_ been raising him. That’s the problem." Hakoda grit out. Prince Zuko was a burning flame that had caused Hakoda no end of problems, so why did the thought of that flame flickering make his heart twist?

“The Fire Lord is a tyrannical piece of shit, but you really think even he’s bad enough not to have a soft spot for his own family?” Aput asked, face crumpling into an echo of anger at the mention of the man causing this world so much agony.

“What kind of soft spot banishes their son? And at _thirteen?_ " Tulok pointed out quietly.

After Hakoda told the crew about Prince Zuko’s banishment, there was a surprising lack of talk about it. The Water Tribe warriors had made an unspoken agreement to leave that topic unexplored. It was like they knew it would make them see the Fire Prince in a different light, a pitying light, and they didn’t want that. Just as Hakoda had done, his crew were desperately grasping onto their hatred. When the world is at war, there aren’t many certainties. For some of these men, knowing the Fire Nation was bad was all the logic they had left. 

“Regardless of whether his dad was a prick to him or not,” Chena said gruffly, "the brat’s royal. That means he’s in the spotlight. His father can’t have done anything too bad to him, even if he wanted to."

This was how Hakoda comforted himself when the fearful gold eyes of the Prince landed on him. However bad his father might have been, Ozai still had crowds to please. A bruised son wouldn’t be tolerated. It was like Chena said; the worst the Fire Lord could do was _want_ to hurt his son.

But even that was appalling.

____

Tomkin spotted the caribou-yak and came running back to the group with all the jittering excitement of a flutter-bat. Zuko had never actually seen caribou-yak, but Nanook’s patient explanation meant he wasn’t too shocked when suddenly the vast white tundra revealed a herd of two dozen beasts. He was shocked, however, at their sheer size. Nanook made Zuko picture small puma-goats, not a herd of animals with the size and horns of dragon-moose. They felt taller than he was, and these warriors wanted to _hunt_ them. Zuko didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

He'd woken up this morning feeling much fresher than yesterday. He didn’t know if that was because of the strange energy that filled him during the Aurora, or because he had just slept _so much_ yesterday that it was now impossible to feel too groggy, whether the sun was out or not. That didn't mean he felt on the top of his game though, and the knowledge that his reflexes were slower than normal made him panic, especially with the Chief so close.

“There’s a snowdrift up on their right side.” The Chief was saying, blue eyes narrowed, every inch the predator. Zuko shivered, and not because of the cold. “Two of us will hide behind it and wait to strike the first blow. I need three of you to sneak around them to stop them running. Little Tom, Nan, Tulok, you three go.”

“Why am I being stuck with the kids?" Tulok asked, but he had the creeping smile of someone who already knew the answer.

“Don’t make me say it, Tulok.” The Chief sighed, making Chena roar out a laugh that rattled Zuko’s bones.

Chena slapped a hand to Tulok’s shoulder. “What’s it like being the shortest?" He asked, and Tulok promptly punched him in the ribs, but he was laughing, which made no sense at all. 

“I miss when Bato made the strategies.” Tulok said, and he – a grown man, a grown warrior who had murdered a Fire Nation soldier without hesitation – actually _pouted_. “He wasn’t sizeist.”

“That’s because he’s almost as short as you.” Nanook pointed out, and Tomkin snickered, earning a withering glare from Tulok that made Zuko want to drag Tomkin behind him. But Tulok didn’t strike out, instead shaking his head.

“Laughter from our shortest member? How bold."

Tomkin gasped, affronted. “I’m not the shortest! Not anymore, at least.” He drew himself up proudly. “I'm taller than Zuko.”

Zuko was talking before he could stop himself, too accustomed to letting his guard down around Tomkin and Nanook and forgetting the other warriors were present.

“Styling your hair to gain another inch does _not_ make you taller than me."

Tomkin’s hands rushed to his hair self-consciously, and Nanook let out a snorting laugh that would usually get him picked on by the other warriors. Usually, but not now, because for a single moment, they stared at Zuko in a daze. Aput broke into a grin first.

“Look at that!" He said, slapping a hand to Zuko’s shoulder, an action Zuko had observed all the warriors doing to one another, but none of them ever flinched as much as he did as he completely froze up in Aput’s grip. “The little brat has a sense of humour!”

“Too long with Kanut, if you ask me.” The Chief chuckled. Zuko felt like the caribou-yak.

Finally, Tomkin, Nanook and Tulok gave a nod to the Chief, and the three walked off. Zuko watched the two youngest Tribesmen leave, his innards twisting painfully. He was alone with two warriors, one of which openly hated him, and the Chief, and the only two people here who had ever tried to help him were leaving. At least Tulok was gone.

Zuko had to wonder if he would survive this hunting trip.

“Chena, Aput, you attack from the front here.” The Chief said, with a nod to the herd of caribou-yak. “Me and His Highness will go to the snowdrift. No one attacks until I take the first one down, you hear? Chena, I'm looking at you.”

The big warrior grinned a murderous grin under his Chief’s stare. Zuko still wasn’t used to the casualness Chief Hakoda allowed from his warriors. The Firelord had punished men simply for looking him in the eye too long before. Zuko could still hear their cried apologies. The Chief was capable of cruel things, Zuko could tell, Zuko had heard it in his threats, but at least he treated his men with compassion.

“Let’s do this.” Aput twirled his spear experimentally, the movement liquid and practised. Zuko missed his dual swords.

"I’ll be happy if we take down three. That'll keep the village going for a good few weeks.” The Chief said. 

Chena nodded. “Four it is.”

The two large warriors walked away to take their position. Zuko was still in awe of what he was witnessing. Hunting sounded nomadic and troglodytic, something for those desperate enough to scrounge for food instead of buying it like normal. His entire life, Zuko’s food had simply been presented him. He had never wanted, not even upon being banished. He realised quickly that in the South Pole, everything was earned. If you wanted to eat, you hunted with spears made by your own hand. But Zuko still hadn’t expected it to be so _tactical_. He felt like he was in a war meeting, Father’s gold eyes on him. One mistake and he would be burnt. 

And now, he was alone with the Chief.

“Let’s go, before Chena spooks the beasts.” The Chief said, pulling that mischievous smile he usually pulled when he was joking, but he couldn’t be joking, because he was looking at no one but Zuko. Confused, Zuko just gave a curt nod, waiting for the Chief to walk before setting off at a pace behind him. Zuko’s sleepy mind snapped into survival mode, adrenaline slowly seeping into his system. He didn’t feel tired anymore. 

They only walked a few metres before the Chief flicked a look to his side, realising Zuko was behind him. Where else would he be? Arrangements like this displayed who had the most power, like how Zuko’s seat beside Father’s had always been lower down, like how the servants never walked at Zuko’s side when they shadowed him.

“Why the slow pace, kid?”

The instinctive hissed response of _“I’m not a kid”_ sizzled on Zuko’s tongue as he reminded himself of who exactly he was with. Chief Hakoda was the leader of the Southern Water Tribe warriors, the man in charge of Zuko’s life for as long as Zuko was his prisoner. Zuko couldn’t just _speak out against him._

But he already had. That first day in the South Pole, Zuko had done more than speak out. He’d raised his voice, almost spilling exactly what he was thinking. And what had the Chief done at this blatant showing of disrespect? _Nothing._

When Zuko was first captured by the Water Tribe warriors, things were terrifying, but they were clear. The men were ready and willing to kill him if he tried them. He couldn’t trust anybody.

But now, the line in the sand had been smoothed over by the southern winds, and Zuko suddenly had no idea where to step. He’d been told the warriors wouldn’t hurt him, and the Chief only would if Zuko forced his hand. He had realised he could trust Kanut to an extent, and he could relax around Tomkin and Nanook because they were harmless. He didn’t know if he could trust the Chief. Chief Hakoda had allowed Zuko shelter and food and medicine and he had trusted him with some semblance of freedom. These were not things prisoners were usually allowed. But Chief Hakoda was the same man that, in a matter of days, would hand Zuko to General Fong of the Earth Kingdom. But again, Chief Hakoda was the same man who _saved Zuko’s life_ on the deck of the Ullaakut.

Either the Chief had some genius plan behind all of this convolution, or he, like Zuko, had no idea what to think anymore.

Whichever option it was, Zuko realised he was about to find out. Him and the Chief were alone. Tomkin wasn’t here to interrupt this time, nor the warriors with their banter, and Kanut was miles away from being able to help.

Zuko finally had to face the Chief, and he had to face him alone. 

____

Hakoda had compiled a list of things he did and did not know about the Fire Prince.

He didn’t know why the Fire Prince was banished.

He didn’t know how many atrocities the Fire Prince had committed in his short life.

He didn’t know if being Fire Nation made the Fire Prince inherently evil.

He didn’t know if he could trust the Fire Prince.

These were things he told himself a Chief needed to consider in order to protect his people, but it was difficult now Hakoda was sleeping in the tent Sokka and Katara grew up in, because there was also a list of things he _did_ know about the Fire Prince.

He knew the Fire Prince tried very hard to be honourable.

He knew the Fire Prince never led a raid in the South Pole. 

He knew the Fire Prince was yet to tell him a lie.

He knew the Fire Prince flinched when people moved too quick.

And the final, most blood-chilling point on his list; he knew he _wanted_ to trust the Fire Prince.

“You know,” Hakoda started casually, walking slower so the kid could keep up easier, missing Prince Zuko’s wide eyes when the two began walking side by side, “when Sokka first came hunting, he walked just as slow as you. Pretty sure he tripped over, too. He says he didn’t, but _something_ had to have scared off those puffin-seals.” Hakoda chuckled at the memory of his son’s determined blue eyes.

It was quiet for a second before Prince Zuko uttered an acknowledging; “Yes, sir.”

Hakoda rolled his eyes. "You don’t have to call me sir."

“Yes, Chief.”

The Prince was looking at him like he thought Hakoda was trying to catch him out. Hakoda carried on patiently.

“Just call me Hakoda."

They reached the snowdrift before Prince Zuko could voice the horror that flashed in his eyes at the suggestion of calling Hakoda by his real name. Hakoda would never understand the Fire Nation’s obsession with formalities. Smirking, he dipped into a crouch. The Prince hesitated before copying, his entire body rigid. With their blue and grey pelts, the two of them blended into the pile of snow they hid behind, watching the oblivious caribou-yak resting mere metres away. The sky was a dark grey above them and would only be light like this for an hour or two; this was the only time of day they could hunt. Hakoda narrowed his eyes on the animals, determined not to waste this opportunity. He could practically smell tonight’s feast.

“We’ll give the others a few minutes to get in position. You ever hunted before?" Hakoda asked, turning to the Fire Prince. No matter how many Water Tribe clothes Prince Zuko borrowed, he always looked so jarringly Fire Nation. His pale skin the colour of the snow, his hair blacker than coal, and those burning eyes. The sight no longer made Hakoda’s heart skip an instinctive beat.

The Prince shook his head, before stuttering like he thought he’d annoyed Hakoda. “No, sir- Chief- _Hakoda._ ”

Hakoda sighed a long, sad sigh, eyebrows creasing. He had so desperately wanted to avoid this, wanted to believe his gut and Kanut’s opinions were wrong, wanted to stop pitying the Prince of the Fire Nation, but he realised then, now it was just the two of them, that it wasn’t in his nature to be so cold. That was a good thing, he knew that, but his life would have been so much simpler if he could shut Prince Zuko _out_.

“You’re scared of me." Hakoda stared at the caribou-yak. It was a statement, not a question, and something that deeply bothered him. He didn’t like the thought of people being scared of him. He didn’t like the thought of a _child_ being scared of him.

The Prince opened his mouth in shock, then closed it again, fear flashing in his eyes; a fish out of water.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking these past two weeks.” Hakoda said steadily. “I’ve been telling myself it was okay to threaten you and let the crew scare you and refuse to even remotely help you, telling myself you were a prisoner and had done something awful to the people I love, which meant I could be awful to you. Then when I found out you were innocent, I continued to justify my actions by telling myself that, if the roles were reversed and I were a prisoner of the Fire Nation, I would receive no mercy. I told myself, if that’s the case, why should I offer _you_ mercy? I was so busy caught up in the injustice of it, that I forgot myself.”

Hakoda turned to look at the Prince, unfaltering under his wide, gold gaze.

“I forgot that I'm Water Tribe, not Fire Nation. To Tui what they do to their prisoners, I am in charge here. And whether you like it or not, _you are a kid_. I can’t keep up this tough act anymore, Prince Zuko. Frankly, I've kept it up too long, and for that..." Hakoda took a deep breath, “I am sorry.”

____

Apologies were for servants and honourless princes, not leaders. The words Chief Hakoda – or just Hakoda as he insisted on being called – spoke were words he shouldn’t have even had in his vocabulary. For a few moments, Zuko could only stare. The Chief was sorry. Sorry for the threats, the cold-shoulder, the fear - all of it. He was right about the mercy of the Fire Nation; had the roles been reversed, the Chief would have been killed by now. That was what Zuko understood, it was all he knew, it was all he _expected_. Every day that passed with him still breathing was more than he expected when he woke up in the morning. He had never even dreamed of an apology. 

He immediately assumed this was a lie, an act to lure him in or get him talking, but the Chief had never really been interested in information unless it regarded his kids, and Zuko hadn’t been uncooperative, so why the sudden games? The whole reason Zuko was being sent to the Earth Kingdom was because they were more prepared to have him prisoner than the Water Tribe, so why would the Chief only now start trying to toy with him?

But if the Chief wasn’t lying, that meant he was telling the truth, which was just as unbelievable.

Zuko didn’t know where to start, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Zuko." He whispered, throat tight.

“Huh?” The Chief hadn’t expected that.

“Call me Zuko.” Zuko said, a little louder but not much braver. “I mean, if I'm not supposed to call you Chief, I should hardly be a Prince. It doesn’t seem fair.”

The Chief- _Hakoda_ nodded, his lips slowly pulling into a smile, that soon became a quiet laugh. “’Fair’.” He repeated to himself, looking at Zuko like he was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Let’s get ourselves some dinner, Zuko.” Hakoda said, and with a newly gained apology and newly lost title, it sounded relaxed, casual, and Zuko couldn’t help but lean into it. How could one sentence from a man previously thought to be so dangerous sound so _safe?_

With a painfully nervous nod, Zuko responded. “Okay... Hakoda.”

____ 

Hakoda watched the silhouettes of his men falling in place, gripping his spear, muscles readying with the familiarity of it all. He knew how to throw this spear with enough force to pierce flesh. But just as he got ready to strike down the first caribou-yak, Hakoda flicked a glance to Zuko. Zuko, just Zuko. Not Prince Zuko. Not the Fire Prince. Not the enemy.

Taking up a position beside the Chief when hunting was symbolic. Zuko was in Sokka’s spot. Hakoda had had to leave behind his son, abandoning any opportunity to teach him a thousand different lessons he’d hoped to teach. Hakoda would never get these two years of his children's lives back, he’d known that when he left for the war, he’d had to accept it. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. But Zuko was in Sokka’s spot, and he’d never hunted before, and it was such a basic thing that every man needed to know-.

“Here." Hakoda handed Zuko the spear before he could even register what he was doing. Zuko looked at the weapon, then back up at the Chief. He always looked so certain that everything was a trick. What had happened to this teenager to make him so untrusting?

“What do you want me to do with it?” Zuko asked slowly, pale fingers wrapping around the spear, flexing, getting a feel for it.

“First, you gotta hold it right." Hakoda said, tapping his finger against the spear appropriately. “The balance point is nearer the spearhead than that.”

Zuko still seemed very confused as to what was happening, but there was a curious glow in his eyes as Hakoda discussed weaponry with him, and he moved his hand further along the spear, looking up to Hakoda once he had to see if he was doing it right.

“There you go. You’re a natural.” Hakoda said with a grin. Zuko actually _blushed._

“You know how to write?” Hakoda asked. 

Zuko went to speak before hesitating, and then saying; “Yes.” 

Hakoda knew what he had been about to say, the surprised _of course_ about to roll from his tongue. Hakoda knew the Southern Water Tribe were the only nation to not have a literary tradition. A few of the villagers knew how to read after Kanna – who learnt in the Northern Tribe where it was commonplace – taught them, but Kanut was the only one who bothered to teach himself how to write. There had just never been any need for it. The villagers were storytellers. Everything Hakoda learned was taught through tales and word of mouth. But when Hakoda left for war and realised his duties as a Chief were different now, him and Bato had learned to write from Kanut.

"Well, don’t grip the spear.” Hakoda said. “Hold it like you’re holding a brush, gentler than that – exactly!”

Zuko was a quick learner, despite how foreign this all must be to him. He listened to what Hakoda told him with none of the arrogance Hakoda expected from a Prince, altering his form accordingly.

Hakoda was impressed, and when he said so much, Zuko ducked his head, hiding in his large hood. It didn’t matter; Hakoda already saw his smile. It was less smug and more relieved.

“What now?” Zuko asked, almost excited. He really did have a knack for this.

“Now,” Hakoda turned to the herd of caribou-yak, “throw it.”

Zuko’s enjoyment disappeared faster than snow on a fire.

____

Zuko was actually impressing Hakoda, was actually doing something _right_. He got so caught up in it all – the form, the weapon, the movement – that he forgot why they were here. But it all came crashing down when Hakoda told him to throw the spear.

Zuko turned to the caribou-yak. The one closest to him was a huge, odd-looking beast, its coat thick and brown and brushing the floor, its horns twisting to the sky. It didn’t look like anything from home, and Zuko felt no resonance with the animal, but from here, he could see its glassy eyes. It was just... resting. It wasn’t doing anything. It wasn’t attacking him. Animals had always been so innocent to Zuko. In a palace that was trying to burn him to ash, his one respite had been the turtleduck pond. Animals were peaceful, caring only about surviving their simple days, not like humans.

“Is something wrong?” Hakoda asked, and Zuko blinked.

He had to kill this creature. The Chief was watching and Zuko had impressed him, but Zuko knew just how quickly good favour could become bad. He had finally gotten out of Hakoda’s bad grace and the thought of returning terrified him. And maybe there was a part of Zuko, a part that twisted in its own familiarity, that wanted to impress the Chief. Zuko wasn’t a firebending prodigy like Azula, so he’d always trained so hard with weapons, sweat sliding over the handles of his dual swords, determined to impress Father, but he never showed to see his son’s progress. Father had only ever been impressed once by Zuko, and even that was a bored, millisecond of a glance. Perhaps, looking back, he had never been impressed, it was just for that one moment as Zuko told him that he was dating Mai, that one moment as his leg stung beneath the dinner table, hands shaking, that one moment Father wasn’t impressed, he just wasn’t disgusted. Just for a moment.

And now, here was Chief Hakoda, a man who reminded Zuko so much of his father, watching him, _waiting._

Zuko wouldn’t waste this opportunity for a stupid caribou-yak.

He breathed through his mouth, holding the spear like Hakoda had taught him to, and lined up the shot, closing his left eye and seeing the animal’s heart through its thick hide. He had to do this. His chi surged uncertainly within him, but he eased it down, gripping the spear tighter. His pai sho tile seemed to burn through his pocket. Zuko ignored it. Zuko ignored everything. It was just him, the Chief, and the caribou-yak. The caribou-yak who Zuko swore was looking right at him, that was part of its own herd, that was utterly defenceless.

Zuko's arm slumped, spear falling to his side. He stared at the floor, hollowed.

“I can’t do it.” He muttered, shame coursing through him. “I’m sorry.”

Part of him forgot Hakoda’s apology and his insistence that violence would only come when absolutely necessary. Zuko was prepared to be struck. So when the Chief just frowned, looking at him with... - was that concern? - Zuko didn’t know what to do.

“It’s just an animal, Zuko. We eat them every day.” Hakoda said logically, and Zuko knew that. _Of course_ he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. Eating meat wasn’t the problem, neither was watching the warriors hunt, but there was something different in holding the spear, being the thing that snatched away a life, something Zuko hadn’t expected, something Zuko was too weak to fight.

“I’m sorry.” Zuko repeated, cheeks flushed from his own indignity. “It’s just an animal, but... but it never did me any harm, and I just can’t-.” Zuko cut himself off. He knew how stupid he sounded.

He never had been good enough.

____

The Fire Prince and Zuko were two different people in Hakoda’s mind. The Fire Prince had hunted his children, raided the south, snarled at Hakoda from corners of his own ship as he fought back with all of his might. But Zuko... Zuko was a boy who made Tomkin laugh and got Nanook thinking. Zuko was the one who refused to kill an animal because it had never done anything to him. Zuko liked sea squid soup and turned his head when Kanut made him smile. 

The Fire Prince was damned to blind obedience to his nation, but Zuko was, first and foremost, a child. This was something Hakoda kept forgetting. He assumed the Fire Prince had a body count, he assumed, next to that, hunting animals would be easy. He forgot that Zuko was a boy, a boy who reeled away from violence while expecting it at every junction.

“You know, son,” Hakoda said, carefully plucking the spear from Zuko’s fingers, “that’s a pretty honourable way of looking at things.”

Zuko’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping up to meet Hakoda’s. “You’re not annoyed?”

Hakoda scoffed. “Of course not, don’t worry yourself so much.”

The kid stared at Hakoda, and Hakoda kept himself relaxed as he smiled as reassuringly as he could, before pushing all of his body weight into throwing his spear. The weapon soared, Zuko looked away, and the caribou-yak fell down. The other warriors charged, and the hunt began.

____

Just as Chena said, the Water Tribe warriors killed four caribou-yak, allowing the rest of the herd to flee off into the icy land. Zuko had been fascinated watching the men hunt. It was so planned out, so practised. None of the savagery he had expected. 

They were now walking back to the village, dragging the four caribou-yak on strange pieces of fabric. As heavy as the beasts looked, this method seemed to lighten the load considerably, to the point the Tribesmen took turns dragging individual carcasses on their own. No one asked Zuko or Tomkin to help. Part of Zuko almost wanted to complain and say he could handle it, that he’d break his back dragging the animals if it proved he wasn’t weak, but he didn’t want to question Hakoda’s authority again. Not after he’d been so lenient before.

“You did good today.” Hakoda said, appearing on Zuko’s left and making him almost jump out of his skin. The Chief wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, having just swapped places with Nanook in dragging a caribou-yak.

“I didn’t do anything.” Zuko mumbled, enraged with himself, fingers clicking against his pai sho tile.

“You shouldn’t mumble.” Hakoda said immediately, blinking a few times as if he wasn’t sure where that came from. Zuko glared at the snow to keep from glaring at the Chief. They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“Zuko?” Hakoda asked, tone different and making Zuko narrow his eyes at him.

"Hakoda.” Zuko responded simply, really wishing the Chief could have walked on his right side. That familiar fuzz of paranoia was filling his vision, and everything was so grey beneath the dark sky that it just _blurred_.

“Have you ever killed anybody?”

If the rest of the men weren’t so close to catching up to them both, Zuko might just have stopped in his tracks, the sudden question ricocheting through him like a bolt of lightning. His instinctive response was _no_ , of course not. But that wasn’t true. Murder could be done with more than a blade to the heart. Murder could be incompetence, cowardice.

“Yes." Zuko whispered, hand retreating from his pocket. His pai sho tile still had specks of blood on it. He was too scared to wash them off.

Hakoda was looking at him strangely. “Are you talking about the man you mentioned a few days ago, Lee?”

Zuko grit his teeth. “Yes.”

It went quiet again, Hakoda staring out at his frozen home, before he looked back down to Zuko. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Zuko didn’t know how to answer that. Did he want to tell Hakoda about Lee? Did he even want to talk about Lee? It was Hakoda’s order, Hakoda’s men, that saw Lee die that day, and yet, Zuko still struggled to place blame on the Water Tribe. If he hadn’t made them think they were in danger, if he hadn’t threatened them, even by accident, then they never would have lashed out. Hakoda made a logical call as a leader that day. Zuko didn’t.

“He was a soldier on the Erlong. Tulok killed him.” Zuko said, and he tried so desperately to keep his tone monotonous, expression blank like he’d seen generals do in war meetings as they discussed men who had been _slaughtered_ because of them. Zuko used to think those generals feigned heartlessness, that they went home to their families and shattered from guilt. He realised growing up that those generals weren’t faking anything. They didn't care who had to die to get them what they wanted. Before Lee, Zuko had envied them their coldness. He had always cared too much; he was too soft. He couldn’t be a general, let alone a prince.

But now he had watched Lee die with his own two eyes, now he had found out it was all his fault, he knew that the only thing that could make Lee’s death worse was if Zuko didn’t _care_. After so long trying to be a perfect Fire Nation royal, heartlessness was one characteristic he was suddenly grateful to lack.

The thought surprised him, and Zuko didn’t feel so bad about the caribou-yak anymore.

“If Tulok killed him,” Hakoda said, jarring Zuko back to reality, “then why are you blaming yourself?”

“Because I was in charge, and I let my men down. I started a fight.” Zuko worked his jaw. Even if they couldn’t hear him, the other warriors could see his face. He wouldn’t show weakness. “It was an accident, but I still started it. If I'd been better, Lee never would have had to fight Tulok, he never would have had the opportunity to _lose_.”

____

Hakoda was a leader. Leaders made decisions. He knew exactly the crushing responsibility when those decisions turned out to be wrong. Bato's burn had kept him up at night for weeks after it happened. He kept asking himself what he’d do if that serious burn had been even more serious, fatal. What would he do if his best friend and Second died because of his order to attack?

He hadn’t expected to see that familiar, ancient panic in Zuko’s golden eyes, and it made his stomach roll within him. The weight of leadership was a debilitating one. The difference was that Hakoda was a grown man who could handle that weight. Zuko was... not.

Hakoda thought carefully about his next words.

“Zuko, as someone in charge of other people’s lives, you have a responsibility.” Hakoda said, feeling the weight of each word he uttered. “But in that, there’s also an understanding that, in a war, not everyone can be saved. Your job is to protect the many, and you did that. You ensured your crew surrendered successfully before you returned to the fight.”

Bato's wincing smile. Nanook recovering in the infirmary. Chena’s broken ribs. Every injury inflicted upon his men was an injury inflicted upon Hakoda, even to the smallest scrapes. He'd ask himself if he could have prevented them, if he could have done something differently. It was only natural. At the end of the day, he knew there was only so much he could do as a Chief, and so long as he acted with his heart and mind both, he couldn’t go too far wrong.

When he first met the Fire Prince, Hakoda assumed he thought only with his mind. Now, Hakoda knew Zuko thought only with his heart. That was the problem.

____

When Tomkin and Nanook tried to tell Zuko that Lee’s death wasn’t his fault, Zuko had felt touched, but he didn’t feel better. He felt that again now, the words _your job is to protect the many_ echoing in his mind. _Not the few_ , left unspoken. Zuko was beginning to understand that Hakoda was the kind of leader that _did_ care about the few, but he understood what the Chief was trying to say.

As leaders, they lost the privilege to save everyone. 

And the logic was there and Zuko almost felt satisfied with that response, but he wasn’t a leader. Not really. He was just a banished prince, a stupid teenager. And even after hearing what Hakoda had to say, the flashing memory of Lee’s death still made Zuko come close to keeling over in the snow, whether the warriors were watching him or not. Agni, how could a memory physically _hurt_ so much?

That evening, Zuko stuck around to watch the dances instead of slinking off to his tent. The women moved in ways he didn’t understand, ankles twisting and arms reaching to the moon, the men’s heavy feet stomping in time with the drums. Zuko remembered his djembe drum. It reminded him of Lee and Mother and Uncle, and it sank with the Erlong. Zuko had always tried not to be sentimental, but there was something heart-breaking in that.

“Then I said; No, Fire Lord Ozai, _your_ earrings are on backwards.” Tomkin finished, and the entire village burst out laughing, minus Zuko. Zuko had never thought of himself as funny, but he certainly didn’t think he was particularly _unfunny_ until Tomkin and Nanook began competing for who had the best jokes. Zuko had never been more confused in his life.

Just as Zuko had been scowling in his attempt to figure out this latest punchline, a hand swooped down from his left. Zuko startled. Hard. He looked up to see Chena walking past, an evil grin on his face as he snatched a chunk of surprisingly tasty caribou-yak meat from Zuko’s plate. Zuko scowled harder at the big warrior, but didn’t say anything. He knew now that was just what happened in the Southern Water Tribe, even if Chena shared food more aggressively than others.

The topic of conversation turned to one time Hakoda and another guy called Bato convinced Kanna they were a water spirit.

“Who looks at an octopus and thinks to put it on their head and make spooky noises anyway?” Kanna grumbled, but she seemed amused when the warriors laughed heartily.

“Hakoda.” A few of them said in unison.

“Technically, Bato made the spooky noises.” Hakoda pointed out with a smile. Everyone was so relaxed, so _happy_. They weren’t a group of warriors convening with their Chief. They were... a group of friends, their spirits lifted by today’s successful hunt.

“Where was your babysitter while this was happening?” Aput asked, sloshing rum around his third goblet tonight.

“I was actually being _productive_.” Kanut said, seemingly accustomed to being referred to as Hakoda and Bato’s babysitter.

“Reading isn’t productive!” Hakoda argued with the passion of this being a debate the pair had had for many years. “It’s a _hobby!_ ”

“A productive hobby!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Don’t make me come over there, boys.” Kanna warned, a motherly berating that made Zuko shiver. Hakoda and Kanut, sat on the opposite side of the fire to her, made _’ooo’_ noises while waggling their fingers at one another, like, well... like kids.

“Did you like my joke about your dad’s earrings?” Tomkin asked eagerly, turning to Zuko and Nanook as the adults’ conversation got louder and louder.

“No.” Zuko said simply, taking one of Tomkin’s kale cookies to prove his point.

“Can you confirm the Fire Lord does not wear earrings?” Nanook asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course he doesn’t!” Zuko said, bewildered. If his father heard this conversation, they’d be executed, and every suddenly rigid muscle in his body was aware of that fact.

“But can you confirm that? With complete certainty?” Nanook pressed, his lips about to twitch into a smile. 

He was joking with him, and Zuko was hundreds of miles away from his father, and jokes weren’t serious so maybe it wouldn’t be terrible if he humoured it... just a little.

Zuko relaxed his muscles and deadpanned. “What Fire Lord Ozai does in his spare time is no business of mine.”

Nanook’s mouth fell open in delight, a moment of hesitation passing, before Tomkin leapt to his feet fast enough to spill his food.

“Zuko made a joke! We made Zuko make a joke!” He yelled for the whole village to hear, punching the air and then high-fiving Nanook like this was something they’d been working on for weeks, laughing loudly. 

Zuko blushed bright red. “Shut _up_.” He hissed, but the other warriors were already looking and they were... cheering?

This was ridiculous. And it got worse. Tomkin sat down, _beaming_ , and promptly grabbed Zuko in a headlock, grinding his knuckles into Zuko’s head in an action that was surprisingly less painful than what Zuko had expected. Nonetheless, Zuko had expected pain and acted instinctively. He was in a headlock for less than a second before his hands pushed Tomkin’s chest. Hard. The boy tumbled off the log they were sat on, falling in a heap in the snow.

The surprises kept coming, the ridiculousness of the situation intensifying, because Tomkin just looked so _stupid,_ and everyone else was in such a good mood, and before he could clamp his mouth shut, Zuko was laughing.

It was a quick thing, stopped by his own hand covering his mouth, a steady blush creeping up his neck.

“You little shit!" Tomkin grinned, sitting back up, but there was something glowing in his sky blue eyes, something overjoyed that made Zuko’s heart skip. For a moment, he was in the fire lily fields. Zuko hadn’t thought of them in _years_ , and shook his head quickly. 

He looked at Tomkin and Nanook. There was a comradery here that Zuko had never had before. He’d watched the pair and known what they had was friendship, but for the first time, he felt like he was actually privy to it. It was stupid and suicidal and... and nice. And he wanted more. He wanted to keep it.

“So the Brooding Prince has been replaced by the Grevious Bodily Harm Prince.” Nanook said with a grin. “Noted.”

“I do _not_ brood. And it wasn’t grievous.” Zuko said, making Nanook chuckle.

“You invented brooding, Your Highness." Tomkin cackled. “Remember when we first met him, Nan? Spirits, I thought you were trying to set me on fire by glaring.”

“He did think that.” Nanook confirmed. "I mean genuinely. He thought it was something firebenders could do."

“What was I supposed to do, not glare?” Zuko asked, remembering when these two were strangers to him, _threats_ to him.

“ _Yes!_ ” Tomkin cried, and Zuko had to physically restrain a second laugh. What was _happening_ to him?

“You _stole_ my _swords!_ ” Zuko responded, almost braving the same volume as Tomkin.

“Aha!” Tomkin pointed like he’d caught Zuko out. “So you were annoyed about that!”

“Not annoyed,” Nanook corrected calmly, an evil smile on his lips, “ _brooding._ ”

“ _I do not brood!_ ”

Zuko shook his head as the two boys erupted into hysterics, Tomkin almost falling off the log a second time. He refused to laugh with them, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep the smile from his lips. It was all so _innocent._

“Okay, Mr Doesn’t-Brood, what’s up with that scar on your face then? It makes you look like you’re brooding even when you’re _not_.” Tomkin was still grinning, but Zuko felt everything in him turn cold. This was no longer innocent. Tomkin had made sure of that. Not on purpose, but he’d walked blindly into a subject that Zuko didn’t want walked in on.

Zuko’s discomfort, his sudden rigidness, his sudden lack of _breathing_ , went unnoticed by even the ever observant Nanook, because he just smiled at him.

“That’s a good point. You never told us how you got that. My money’s on you running with fire as a kid.” Nanook said, shovelling food in his face as he talked, like this was a casual conversation.

“Fuck that.” Tomkin said. “I’m still sticking with training accident. Either way, Broody McBroodface definitely did it to himself.” He laughed, elbowing Zuko lightly. 

It was enough to jostle him back to reality, the constant loop of fire and begging for forgiveness pausing in Zuko’s mind a moment. Just a moment. Just long enough for him to grit out; “I don’t want to talk about it.”

But it was dark now, even for the South Pole, and the fire showed only shadows of Zuko’s face, and the other warriors spoke so loudly that the nuances of his tone were lost on the boys. They didn’t realise what they were doing. They _kept going_.

“Oh, he definitely did it to himself!” Tomkin pointed with a laugh. Zuko could only stare into the fire and pray to Agni he didn’t accidentally burn the village down, but his heart was beating so fast. _For your disrespect, you will stand trial before Agni._ And Zuko had looked at the old general, had known he could take him, and declared he was unafraid. 

“It's gotta be embarrassing if he’s getting defensive.”

 _Please Father, I only had the Fire Nation’s best interests at heart. I'm sorry I spoke out of turn._ His own words, a pathetic beg that made him cringe to look back on. No wonder his father had been so angry. But Zuko had also been terrified, and confused, and... and _thirteen._

It didn’t matter now.

“Hey, Zuko? We're only messing around.”

“It’s not actually from something serious... right?”

Zuko could feel every flame of the campfire before him, every crackle and burst of heat. _You will fight for your honour._ The warriors carried on eating and drinking and laughing, a crowd pretending not to see him. _I meant you no disrespect._ He'd knelt so low it hurt his knees, nose to the floor. _I am your loyal son._

“ _Stop._ ” Zuko growled, Nanook and Tomkin’s stares feeling miles away. He wasn’t in the South Pole anymore. He was in that Agni Kai. What terrified him most was that, if he was put in that position again three years later, now sixteen years old, he would have no idea what to do differently. Would he stay silent and leave those young soldiers to their fate? Would he speak out and find a way to placate his father? _Was_ there a way to placate his father? _Rise and fight, Prince Zuko_. That had been an order. _I won’t fight you._ And that had been a defiance.

Looking back, some part of Zuko knew there was nothing he could have done to make things go differently that day, and that terrified him more than anything.

Tomkin was on his left, was reaching for him, a hand coming close to his face.

 _You will learn respect,_ Zuko had looked up to see his father, turned to see Tomkin’s outstretched hand, _and suffering will be your teacher._

And everything was fire and he couldn’t let it burn him, not again, so he grabbed it and pushed it away with all his might. He heard a scream, then yells, felt someone dragging him back painfully, let his own body turn limp in their grip. It took a few seconds for the village to swim back into his view, but the scene before him was not one he recognised.

All of the warriors were on their feet, the campfire extinguished to the bare embers, throwing everything into an eerie orange glow. Zuko was being held in place by Chena and Kanut, Chena’s grip twisting his arm a centimetre away from snapping the bone, Kanut’s eyes on him wide and... and _horrified_. Blatantly, irrevocably _horrified._ He didn’t want to look, but Zuko slowly slid his gaze to the others.

Nanook had stumbled to the side, sat in the snow, face frozen in shock as he stared at the charred log he’d been sat on moments before. The other warriors were gathered nearby, and there lay Tomkin. He was sat up, those spring eyes watery and so clearly in _pain_ as he cradled his arm, hands shaking. Kanna held him by the shoulder, Aput and Tulok asking him over and over if he was okay. Tomkin insisted each time that he was, but Zuko wasn’t blind. He saw the blackened hole in Tomkin’s shirt, his once smooth brown skin charred and blistered and _peeling_ , scorched a horrific red colour. Blood oozed out lazily, and his breathing was spluttered, pained.

Zuko had burned him.

Chief Hakoda began to walk towards Zuko, and in his eyes was nothing but unforgiving ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitches really say they hate cliff hangers then churn them out left right and centre. It's me. I'm bitches. Bite me.
> 
> See u Monday my sweet summer children. Get therapy beforehand because chapter 10 is.... well you’ll see :)


	10. i. Ashes To Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so chapter 9 has literally over 270 comments and I keep telling myself that’s mainly my big mouth popping off but also WHAT the response from last chapter was INSANE, have i mentioned that i love you all recently? i haven’t? Yeah because I'm not a fuckin simp bitch tf you thought get a job leave me alone.  
> Btw don’t be mad but I’m not going to be posting chapter 11 Thursday and instead will post next Monday, just because I’m visiting family all week and won’t have time to go over it, and I won’t post a chapter unless I'm certain it’s the best I can do, so sorry hoes you’ll have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god the ANGST. Okay so I know these notes things are just where I'm a mess and you guys laugh at me (bullies I tell you) but I just need to say a few things. This chapter has fucking BROKEN ME. It has taken me SO long to write and I've rewritten it so many times. It's such an important chapter and I get this is just a fun dumb fic about a kids show, but the abuse Zuko’s gone through is not fun or dumb, and I wanted to do him justice in this. What happens in this chapter is such a big deal and I know everyone always has such specific desires for This Moment and I really wanted to get it perfect, like I researched articles and books and songs and films and anything that tackles this just to try and get a more realistic portrayal. In the end I reread this so many times that I now think it’s shit and I've done a terrible job, but I physically cannot stomach rewriting it AGAIN so I'm just forcing myself to post it with the knowledge that I put ALL OF THE POSSIBLE EFFORT I HAD IN whether the proof is in the pudding or not. I know you all have ur own theories after the last cliffhanger (I am NOT sorry about that) but this is what I think the most accurate response from my characters is. I hope I've done a good job, I really have put my all into this chapter.  
> .  
> Okay go read or whatever hope you all suffer have a nice day don’t do anything I wouldn’t do xxx
> 
> EDIT: OH SHIT my stupid bitch of a brainless brain with no braincells in sight like truly barren fucking dumb monkey brain forgot about the thing that i've literally been thinking about all week. tell me how that's even possible. FANART!! THERE'S MORE!!! AND IT'S BRILLIANT!!!!! Here u go because everyone needs to see these actual masterpieces.  
> .  
> [KANART](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507724622774/)  
> .  
> [everyone's fav fire brat](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507724633440/) \- (follow the artist's ig @farah.drawz)  
> .  
> [tom nook being bastards](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507724633508/)  
> .

There was chaos, a blur of Tomkin’s shaking _I'm alright, I'm alright_ combined with the warriors’ desperate demands of _what happened?_ Chaos and panic and horror and... and then the Chief took a step towards Zuko, and everything silenced. With each step closer Hakoda took, Zuko felt sparks in his veins, and suddenly, he was taming an entire forest fire all by himself. But what surprised him most was that Zuko didn’t _care_. His own damnation was walking towards him, and still, all he could look at was Tomkin. 

“It’s alright.” Tomkin said softly, eyes on Zuko. "That was my fault, not yours. It's alright. I'm alright." 

“I’m so sorry.” Zuko whispered, finally looking down at his own two hands. They were trembling at his sides, they had grabbed the campfire everyone else had made a home around and thrown it at a boy he considered almost a friend only minutes before. _What was wrong with him?_

“Chena, ease up.” Kanut said slowly from Zuko’s right. 

“ _No_.” Chena growled, and it was only then that Zuko registered they were referring to him. He blinked and noticed his arm was held at his side in an iron grip, twisted in the suddenness of it all, and it _hurt_. The kind of hurt that Zuko knew to be a lesson. 

“You’re the Angakkuq, you should be over there.” Chena said, anger in his grey eyes as he looked at Kanut, fingers digging deeper into Zuko’s skin. 

“Not until I know you won’t hurt him.” Kanut said. He was... helping him. And he was so _determined_. He'd just watched Zuko attack Tomkin, and still, he was right there by his side. 

Chena and Kanut were about to get in an argument, but both of them silenced when Chief Hakoda stopped in front of them, his body acting as a shield between Zuko and Tomkin. 

“Prince Zuko, come with me.” The Chief said, and he called him _Prince_ , and his voice sounded like an ocean readying to drown. Zuko suddenly remembered to be afraid of the Chief, and with that, everything slammed into him. His heart began to pound, his breathing becoming choppy, hard, unnatural. 

“Please, Chief. I'm fine. It was my fault. It's barely a burn.” Tomkin insisted, and he sounded like he was begging, begging for mercy just as Zuko had in the Agni Kai. But Tomkin wasn’t begging for himself, and when Hakoda flicked a level look to first Chena, who slowly unclasped himself from Zuko, and then Kanut, who inexplicably refused to leave his side, before turning and walking to his tent, Zuko knew he had no choice but to go with him. 

Zuko followed. He saw Tomkin try and get up with a yell of complaint, only to be held back by Aput. He saw Nanook staring after him. He saw Kanut, the war on his face easy to read. He wanted to stay with Zuko, he wanted to make sure he was okay. Zuko knew this. He didn’t know why, but he knew this. He settled for nodding firmly at Zuko, refusing to look away. An acknowledgement, a silent but fierce shield. Zuko nodded back. Kanut trusted Hakoda. For a little while, Zuko had too. 

Hakoda wasn’t Ozai. 

But the moment the tent flap fell closed behind them, leaving Zuko completely, utterly alone with the Chief, Zuko broke. Hakoda wasn’t Ozai, but that didn’t matter. 

“I’m so sorry.” Zuko breathed, his entire body shaking as the Chief took a seat on one of the floor pillows, lighting the fire after a second of deliberation. “I’m so sorry. I should be better.” Zuko continued, the words like a practised prayer, like a eulogy. “I should have more control. I don’t know what came over me. I'm so sorry. I... I'll keep working, I swear I can be useful. I'm sorry-.” 

Zuko couldn’t breathe and there was no bowsprit to flee to this time. He felt like claws had grasped his lungs and were squeezing them, he could feel them suck in shallow breath after shallow breath, the muggy air of the tent choking him. He had firebended. That was it. There was no way around it, no glossing, no justification. Tomkin had been teasing and in return, Zuko tried to set him on fire. 

Zuko buried the butts of his palms into his eyes, hissing air through his teeth. He couldn’t see Hakoda now, which meant he couldn’t see if Hakoda was going to strike out at him, but there was no way he _wouldn’t_ strike out at him. It was a certainty and Zuko knew it was coming and he wasn’t brave enough to watch it happen because last time he watched it happen he almost lost an _eye_ -. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Zuko.” Hakoda said, and Zuko jumped because he was closer than before, which meant he wasn’t sat down anymore, which meant he was advancing. Suddenly, there were hands on his elbows, gently pulling like he was trying to uncover Zuko’s eyes. Zuko couldn’t watch it happen. He had enough nightmares about the Agni Kai, watching his father cup his face, thinking for a blind moment that he was going to wipe his tears and forgive him, only instead for his hand to ignite and every nerve in him to shriek in agony-. 

“I’m so sorry." Zuko mumbled, and he repeated it again and again, because three years later and he still didn’t know how he should have done the Agni Kai differently and he didn’t know how to fix this and he _was_ sorry. And he was terrified. 

Fabric moving, hands releasing from his elbows, the large form before him getting closer, about to strike, about to _teach_ -. 

When Hakoda’s big arms grabbed Zuko and wrapped him in a hug, Zuko froze, shocked enough for his hands to fall from his eyes and let him see that he truly wasn’t hallucinating. The sudden sturdiness of the Chief, his steady breathing, his warmth, his heart thudding against Zuko’s scarred cheek – it was all real, and Zuko almost collapsed against it. Relief struck him. Relief so strong, so palpable, that his body couldn’t handle so much of it at once. His knees buckled and Hakoda slowly lowered them both to the floor, and Zuko didn’t know what was happening but the Chief hadn’t hurt him, and Zuko buried his face in Hakoda’s shirt and it smelt like salt and sweat and _he was okay._

“Easy, kid. You're safe here.” Hakoda breathed, his arms tightening ever so slightly. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, Zuko.” Hakoda said, each word vibrating through him as Zuko desperately tried to catch his breath. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Zuko hadn’t realised how long he’d waited to hear those words. They unseamed him, a gasp of air finally filling his lungs entirely. When he started to cry, he didn’t know how to stop it, so he clutched at Hakoda's shirt and let himself unravel in the Chief’s firm grip. It was just the right kind of firm. Firm enough to hold each part of him together as he shattered. 

____ 

Hakoda swore the boy was safe here and he was suddenly willing to fight another war just to prove it. He had seen the fractures of Zuko’s composure, seen the wrinkles in the smooth front of a prince. He knew the boy couldn’t lie and he knew the boy flinched when he moved too fast and he knew the boy had expected Hakoda to hurt him, but this time he didn’t run. Not out of trust, but out of respect. A respect he hadn’t had for Hakoda back on the Ullaakut when he dashed to the bowsprit. Zuko’s idea of respect was allowing himself to be hurt. It was the only way he knew how to give it. He rooted his stance, shielded his face, and waited for something he thought was inevitable. And suddenly, it wasn’t fractures and wrinkles. Hakoda was watching an entire façade shatter, and he realised how deep this pain ran. Someone had broken this boy, over and over again. He was a child and he was traumatised by something. His nation hadn’t defended him, no one had, so Hakoda would. If it killed him, he would defend this kid. Because Zuko was so stubborn, and he worked so damn hard, and when Hakoda told him he was impressed, the kid lit up, and he was just another victim of the Fire Nation. Just like Hakoda, just like the crew of the Ullaakut. 

And Tomkin was right about one thing; Hakoda hadn’t realised how warm firebenders were. He was sat on the floor, holding Zuko against him, muttering soft reassurances in the kid’s ear and pretending he didn’t realise Zuko was crying. He just smoothed his thumb over the kid’s back, and felt the area where Zuko’s head rested, right over his heart, surge with warmth. 

“I just want to go home.” Zuko croaked, voice shaking. How long had this teenager kept all of this terror and agony pent up? For the few weeks Hakoda had known him, or for years longer? Hatred for the Fire Nation festered in Hakoda's veins. Zuko was just a kid. An innocent, temperamental, infuriating _kid_ , and they had broken him. More tears tracked down Zuko’s face that he desperately tried to hide deeper in Hakoda’s furs. “That’s all I ever wanted. That's all I needed from the Avatar.” 

_Home_ , of course he wanted to go home. The lines had blurred so much, but Zuko was still a prisoner here. And home suddenly sounded so dangerous, a place children were sent to burn. If Hakoda had to keep Zuko prisoner to keep him safe, then he would. Zuko was staying by his side until he figured something out. 

“What’s back home that you miss so much?” Hakoda asked quietly. 

Zuko finally took a deep breath, finally pushed himself away like _Hakoda_ was the one grasping at _him_ like a lifeline. The Prince’s golden eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks damp even after he rubbed his sleeve down his face. 

“What do you mean?" Zuko asked as they both settled around the fire. 

“You miss home, but why?” Hakoda kept his tone easy. 

It was a peculiar question on the surface. It was also the exact question Kanna asked a twelve-year-old Kanut when he yelled at her to stop driving a wedge between him and his father, yelled that he wanted to go home and he wanted her to stop interfering. When boiled down to its essence, home was just a concept. Most people were lucky, like Hakoda, and their concept of home was safety, warmth, love. But there were some who only ever missed home because everyone else _expected_ them to miss home. It was a societal thing, ignorance pushing terrified children back to relatives they owed nothing to, but thought they did. Most of the time, these children never even thought to question _home._

“What do you miss, Zuko?” Hakoda asked, harder this time. 

And the boy just stared and stared, and Hakoda hoped that maybe it was dawning on him that, if he couldn’t think of something he missed, perhaps he didn’t miss it at all. 

“I need to regain my honour." Zuko finally said. “I need to prove to Father that I'm not useless. I need to be a prince to my people. I need to train more. I need to-.” 

“But what do you _miss?_ ” 

Zuko blinked, before slowly realising the question. “My mother.” 

How two words could decimate Hakoda quicker than any raid or attack he’d lived through was beyond him. The boy with half his face burnt off and a father who banished him on a fool’s mission at only thirteen was not a soldier, or a threat, or even an enemy. He was a boy who missed his mother. 

“Is she in the Fire Nation?” Hakoda asked, trying to remember everything he’d learned about the royal family in his time as Chief. The name Ursa came to mind, a silent face in portraits, but he swore he hadn’t heard talk of her in years. 

“No." Zuko said roughly, shaking his head. "No one knows where she is. She left when I was eleven. Azula thinks she’s dead. I don’t." 

Tui and La, had this kid ever caught a break? A father who banished him, a mother who abandoned him. But at least Zuko was finally talking. Hakoda didn’t care if he was exploiting the kid’s moment of weakness; he needed answers. And to his surprise, he needed answers _to help Zuko_. Locking everything within him was going to kill Zuko one day, a dam that would drown him when it flooded. He needed to vent, he needed to yell and be angry and let everything out like a _normal_ teenager. 

“What else do you miss?” Hakoda pushed again. 

Zuko's voice raised ever so slightly, the minutest tremble, impatient with Hakoda’s questions that he didn’t understand. He would understand soon. They were so _close_. "I miss..." He growled. “I miss my uncle.” 

Hakoda nodded. “And is he in the Fire Nation?” 

“Well, no." Zuko admitted. “He was with me on the Erlong. He left with Lieutenant Jee, back in the Earth Kingdom.” 

“What else do you miss, Zuko?” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“Just tell me what you miss so much about home." 

“I don’t know!" Zuko finally snapped, the fire flaring slightly to Hakoda’s side, the boy’s chest rising and falling, and there was that flash of panic as he expected Hakoda to lash out, that undeniable relief when Hakoda didn’t. 

“You didn’t say your father.” Hakoda said quietly, and Zuko paled. “You didn’t say anything that actually had anything to do with your home. So tell me, Zuko, do you really want to go home? Or have you just said that so many times now that you’ve convinced yourself you mean it?” 

Understanding filled Zuko’s eyes as he finally realised the point of Hakoda’s tactical badgering, and then shame as he realised he couldn’t think of more than two good things for him in the Fire Nation, and the two he could think of weren’t even _in_ the Fire Nation. 

“So what? You want me to live my life as your prisoner? Or just bide my time until you hand me over to General Fong? Then what, Hakoda?" Zuko hissed, and the words were biting, because Zuko was now asking questions that Hakoda himself was struggling to answer. 

Fong was an alliance. It would bruise to lose him, but Hakoda could make new alliances. The crew had taken a liking to the Fire Prince, whether they were ready to admit that or not, and Tomkin had already been dropping hints along the lines of _‘if anything bad happens to Zuko in the Earth Kingdom, I'm going to knock Tulok out and sail us straight to Zuko’s rescue’_ , aided by a firm nod from Nanook, which meant a lot seeing as Nanook usually followed up Tomkin’s ridiculousness with an exhausted _‘shut up’_. Hakoda knew if he told the crew today that Zuko was staying, they wouldn’t argue, except Chena, but even Chena had begun to reluctantly admit that Zuko was, undeniably, a child. 

But what did _Zuko_ want? Because it mattered what he wanted, whether Zuko realised that or not. And what about what happened outside? Zuko was dangerous. Not in the way Hakoda had first assumed that day when their worlds collided, but dangerous all the same, to himself more than anyone. Hakoda barely knew anything about the kid. He kept everything behind industrial walls that put the rings of Ba Sing Se to shame. 

“I won’t waste time planning for the future if you have no intention of trusting me, Zuko." Hakoda said, and the boy flinched, confusion filling him. He didn’t know what Hakoda was getting at, and that made him panic. 

"You want to tell me what happened outside?” Hakoda asked, and Zuko connected the dots, realised Hakoda wasn’t going to just forget his performance by the campfire, and he seemed to realise something else too, something Hakoda had just realised. 

Hakoda had decided to trust Zuko, back when they were hunting and the boy refused to kill. At the time, trust was a broad thing, because trust had always been so _simple_ to Hakoda. Trust had not been simple to Zuko, had not been kind to Zuko. Behind the snowdrift, Hakoda had only trusted a fraction of this boy. He’d underestimated the depth of this, trusting the distinction between _Fire Prince_ and _Zuko_ without realising there was more to it. 

Now, Hakoda was asking for the rest, was asking for Zuko to brave reaching forward a hand, brave touching the flames and seeing if _just once_ they chose not to burn. 

Zuko nodded once, and Hakoda held his breath. 

“They just kept asking, and I couldn’t stop _thinking_ about it-.” Zuko hissed, almost bruising himself with the anger with which he swiped his still red eyes. 

“About what?” Hakoda kept his voice soft and body still, no increases in octaves and no sudden movements. He was quickly realising that what happened outside might have been a little more than a pent-up teen finally releasing his frustrations, and he knew that Zuko telling him this story meant a lot more than what it seemed. 

The kid swallowed. “They wanted to know how I got my scar.” 

Hakoda realised all too late that the scar the crew had hypothesised and even joked about for weeks was actually caused by something serious. He should have at least considered that before now; he knew that. A scar that bad would have been _agonising_ , and Kanut said it was years old. But how could it possibly have been caused by something serious? What could possibly have led to a facial burn of that magnitude if not an accident? 

The realisation hit Hakoda. Zuko’s defensiveness, _I couldn’t stop thinking about it_ , how he never brought it up despite its glaring obviousness. Back on the Ullaakut, the boy had said it was his fault. Hakoda believed him. That was his first mistake. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda started, heart in his mouth, “did somebody hurt you?” 

His gold eyes flicked up to meet Hakoda’s blue own, and in them held the answer Hakoda feared. 

“It was my fault.” Zuko whispered, trying to make it sound like a hiss, trying to regain some of that ridiculous Fire Nation pride. “It was to teach me a lesson.” 

Flinching. Fear of raised voices. Distrust of any adult male. The signs had all been there. They had been right in front of Hakoda this entire time. Hakoda remembered some of the things he said to Zuko in the beginning, some of the things he did. How much damage had he done? How hard had he pressed on already existing bruises? And he had _wondered_ why the kid responded so frantically to his temper, why actions most would consider slightly forceful were taken as highly triggering by Zuko. 

Somebody did this to Zuko. Somebody took a hand to him. Somebody _burned_ him. Was it during his banishment? Perhaps that Admiral Zhao he hated so much? Or some other firebender spurred by Zuko’s antagonism? Hakoda’s heart was thundering in his chest, anger and devastation filling his every nerve, and it boiled down to one instinct. An instinct born when Kya first handed him the bundle that had been Sokka, an instinct that grew as he stared into little Katara’s wondrous eyes, an instinct that had been dormant for two years and now awoke with a protective growl. 

“What happened?” Hakoda asked, and he had to let his words come out as a breath, because if he didn’t, they’d be snappy, and Zuko would think his anger was aimed at him, because Zuko didn’t see how _wrong_ this all was. 

“It was a duel, an Agni Kai.” Zuko said quietly, and Hakoda had heard of Agni Kai. Battles to settle disputes between firebenders, ending when one combatant burnt the other, almost always turned into public spectacles, enjoyed by a crowd. Apparently, firebenders hinged their honour on these duels. 

“I’d been in a war meeting the day before, my first one. Uncle told me not to say anything, to just observe, but then one of the generals brought up the 41st division, a fleet of new recruits. He wanted to use them as bait. _Fresh meat_ , he called them.” Zuko growled, hatred curling from his words, but just as quickly as it had been there, he blinked and sat up straighter. “It doesn’t justify anything. He was an esteemed general. It was disrespectful for me to argue with him, but... but I did anyway.” 

Zuko was telling half a story, swept away by his own memories, but Hakoda wasn’t cruel enough to nail him down on the details when he could fill in the blanks well enough. 

“And it led to an Agni Kai?” Hakoda asked, wondering what kind of _esteemed general_ duelled a _child_. 

"I thought I'd be fighting General Bujing, because he was the one I spoke out against, but I spoke out against him in Father’s war room, so when the gong sounded,” Zuko’s stare was relentless, “it was my father I was facing.” 

Last year, Hakoda had been bitten by a beaked-jelly-snake, a highly poisonous, aquatic creature that saw him spend two weeks in the infirmary. The poison caused hallucinations, fever, and if it had been a higher concentration, Kanut had told him, he could easily have died. That wasn’t the worst of it though, because one thing caused by the beaked-jelly-snake's poison was _agony._ For two weeks, Hakoda had writhed in bed, every inch of his skin feeling like it was being set on fire, every nerve being stabbed over and over and over again. It was the most painful thing he’d ever endured. He'd never felt anything like it. 

This was worse. 

The words _it was my father I was facing_ wrapped around Hakoda’s throat and choked him, the rest of what must have happened playing out in Hakoda’s mind now he knew the truth. His heart thrashed, crying out in pain and denial that no, that couldn’t be right, that was too horrible to be right. But the signs had been right in front of Hakoda this entire time. 

Hakoda hadn’t thought he could possibly hate the Fire Lord more. Now, he wanted to grab the man by the neck and _twist_. 

“You duelled your father." Hakoda managed to utter, the words slicing at him. “You lost.” 

Zuko shook his head. “I refused to fight.” 

_Oh._

Oh, of course he did. Oh, why was that worse? Because it was _Zuko_. Not some cruel soldier or heartless general or _Fire Lord_ , but Zuko. And Zuko was a child who wanted to impress his father, who refused to fight and was tortured in turn. 

“I _begged_.” Zuko muttered, disgusted with himself, like _his_ actions had been at fault that day. “I begged like a peasant, a servant, a coward. He told me to fight for my honour and I was too weak to even try. He burned me, and the next day I woke up on the Erlong, banished.” 

Hakoda didn’t miss the implication that, if Zuko woke up the next day, he must have passed out from the pain. Hakoda remembered watching Zuko firebend on the deck during his first escape. He’d wondered how it was possible for someone to hold fire without being burnt. How hard had his father pressed? Had Zuko used his bending to stop the burn, and his father overpowered him? Or did he allow himself to be burnt in a sick appeasement? Which one was worse? Hakoda remembered taking Zuko to Kanut that first time, wondering if Fire Nation royals were immune to pain because the boy simply refused to break, how he ultimately collapsed from it. Zuko's pain threshold was off the charts, and the person who pushed it to be like that was his own father. 

Hakoda levelled his gaze and pushed back his shoulders. When he spoke, he finally spoke properly, spoke to be _heard,_ voice soft and insistent. 

“There was nothing you could have done.” 

Zuko blinked at him, golden eyes glassy. “What?” He whispered, but there was something being pushed at within him, and he knew it, because fear flashed in his eyes. 

“There was nothing you could have done.” Hakoda repeated. Zuko shook his head. 

“Don’t. Don't do that. Please don’t do that.” He struggled to his feet, taking a step back from Hakoda. His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. _He_ was shaking. 

“There was nothing you could have done, Zuko.” Hakoda stood, shadowing the retreating boy until he had nowhere else to go. He placed his hands to Zuko’s shoulders and the shaking stopped. “You did your best-.” 

“Hakoda, please stop it-” 

“- but there was nothing you could have done.” And then Hakoda moved. He moved first his right hand, and then followed with his left when the panic induced by Hakoda’s movement left the boy’s eyes, and Hakoda held Zuko’s face. He was warm and Hakoda could feel how his breathing trembled and his cheeks were still wet and there were tears now slipping over Hakoda’s fingers, and the skin beneath his left hand was ragged and ruined, a terrain Hakoda had never navigated. Hakoda realised with a shaking breath that if he moved his hand to cover Zuko’s eye, it would fit perfectly over his scar. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda said, tone forceful, his own eyes threatening to spill, hands holding the boy so he had no choice but to look and hear Hakoda’s words, “there was nothing you could have done, because _it wasn’t your fault._ ” 

Hakoda had been pushing at something deep and toiling within Zuko, but at that, it finally crumbled, giving way at the foundations. Zuko choked out a strangled cry, a cry of exhaustion, a cry of desperation, a cry of anguish. He let his head fall forward, forehead to the dip of Hakoda’s neck, and this time, when Hakoda wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him as close as he could, as safe as he could make him, Zuko’s own arms did the same. His fingers grasped Hakoda’s back like he was falling and Hakoda was all he had left to tether him, and Hakoda wasn’t sure if he could ever let him go because at least like this Hakoda knew the kid was _safe_ , was _out of Ozai’s clutches_. 

In all his years of war and bloodshed, this was the worst crime Hakoda had seen committed by the Fire Nation. It was not just a scar on Zuko, a testament to one father’s cruelty, but in fact a scar on the entire nation. An innocent, terrified, _loyal_ child was mutilated by his own father, the nation’s supreme ruler, and it was made a _public spectacle_. A grotesque, inhumane, sin of a public spectacle. And the boy who spoke for the young soldiers, for kindness, for mercy, faced his unjust punishment completely and utterly alone, despite a roomful of eyes. 

And this was the moment that Hakoda realised the true meaning of war. War was not black and white. It wasn’t as simple as the Water Tribe were the good guys and the Fire Nation were the bad guys. War was grey. An entire nation could not be evil, but they could be repressed under the tyrannical rule of a man who pumped propaganda and lies out of every breath he exhaled. 

The Fire Nation didn’t need defeating; it needed saving. 

____ 

They sat together for some time, long after one of Zuko’s sobs guttered the fire. Zuko waited for his pride to lash out at him, for his cheeks to flush in shame, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he rested against the Chief. He felt alright here. He felt safe here. So he just measured his breathing against Hakoda’s and he let himself cry. 

Hakoda said it wasn’t Zuko’s fault. Hakoda was lying. 

Hakoda was lying, because when Zuko was born, Father said he lacked the spark in his eyes needed to be a bender, and having a non-bender Prince was shameful; it took Mother and all the Fire Sages to convince Father not to cast Zuko over the palace walls. Hakoda was lying, because even Zuko couldn’t tune out the servants’ gossip, and he knew exactly what was supposed to happen the night his mother disappeared. Hakoda was lying, because Father had never intended for the Avatar to be found. Hakoda was lying, because Zuko’s leg still stung with the phantom kiss of fire lilies. Hakoda was lying, because Zuko knew not all fathers were like his. Hakoda was lying, because there were a hundred different burns and scars and agonies coating Zuko’s skin, and each one of them had whispered over the years that perhaps some of this was wrong, perhaps Hakoda wasn’t lying, perhaps Zuko wasn’t the broken one. 

But Zuko had quashed the whispers his entire life, never letting them become a chorus. He saw the impressed line to Father’s glare when Azula went through her katas, and _he wanted it_. That was the problem. Believing it hadn’t been Zuko’s fault meant it must have been his father’s fault, and believing that meant the Fire Lord had been wrong. The thought wasn’t only treasonous, but devastating. Because if Father was wrong about the Agni Kai, then he was wrong about all of it, and if he was wrong about all of it, that made him cruel. Cruel and loveless. And if he was loveless, then he didn’t love Zuko, then he never loved Zuko, then he would never love Zuko. 

_There was nothing you could have done._ There was nothing Zuko could do to make Father love him. 

That was the option Hakoda presented, the option Zuko begged him to leave unsaid. 

Zuko wanted Hakoda to be lying. He wanted Hakoda to be lying more than anything in the world. 

But there were a hundred different burns and scars and agonies coating Zuko’s skin, and they were starting to whisper... 

Hakoda eventually told Zuko to go get some sleep, that he’d think of a plan, that Zuko didn’t have to worry. Zuko believed him. 

And his mind was whirling as he trudged through the village, pointedly ignoring the stares the women sent him that somehow held even more malice than before. He felt like he was about to blow away on a breeze, like he’d been emptied out, all the pain of these three years being crushed in Hakoda’s hug, and now he felt hollow, a skeleton. He hadn’t gone to Kanut’s tent on purpose, but before he realised what he’d done, he was already in the entrance. 

“And then I said; No, Fire Lord Ozai, _your_ earrings are on backwards.” 

“Tomkin, I am literally begging you to shut the fuck up. Please, just shut the fuck up." 

Tomkin was sat cross-legged on one of the cots of the healer’s tent, Kanut in front of him slowly wrapping bandages around his burn. Zuko stared. It wasn’t a bad burn, and growing up with Azula meant scrapes like that were more than common in Zuko’s life, but it wasn't the injury that was the problem, it was the fact that Zuko had inflicted it. 

Kanut noticed Zuko first, giving him a quick once over. Whatever he saw, his shoulders dropped a fraction. That didn’t stop him from saying; “You look like shit.” 

Zuko’s scowl fixed on his face instinctively. As soon as it did, replacing whatever it was that Kanut had seen before, Kanut grinned. 

“Zuko!” Tomkin smiled in relief, deep concern in his eyes. “Listen, man, I'm really sorry about that. I kept harassing you and I should’ve gotten the hint. I didn’t realise it was... I didn’t realise it was personal.” 

Kanut’s heavy blue gaze as Zuko carefully sat with them, further than he usually did, told Zuko all he needed to know. Tomkin had told him exactly the conversation they were having before Zuko lashed out. Tomkin was nice, but he was also unobservant and would still be as in the dark about Zuko’s scar now as he was an hour ago. Kanut, however, always seemed to know everything Zuko was doing, could always seem to explain every action he made. And he was _looking_ at him weirdly. 

“Why are you apologising? I hurt you.” Zuko said, swallowing thickly. "I’m so sorry, Tomkin." 

Tomkin just scoffed like it was a ridiculous thing to say. “One time, Chena wouldn’t let me go penguin sledding because I hadn’t finished making a hammock, and I poked his arm until he lost his temper and pushed me over. That hurt, doesn’t mean it was necessarily his fault. You’re just getting uppity because you used your fancy firebending.” 

Zuko stared. Tomkin... genuinely wasn’t annoyed. Tomkin didn’t even blame Zuko. 

“That’s not true-.” 

“Sure it is!” Tomkin was grinning, and it was like they were back to joking happily around the campfire. “Your arrogance is astounding.” 

Kanut flicked his finger at Zuko. “Arrogant motherfucker." He reminded him. Zuko couldn’t even retaliate. 

He made a mistake, but nobody hated him. 

____ 

Kanut had noticed Zuko’s discomfort before anyone else, practically sensing it from across the campfire. Tomkin and Nanook had been joking about something, but the kid just stared into the fire, hands trembling, shoulders moving too quick as he took in sharp, shallow breaths. Kanut had watched as Tomkin reached towards Zuko, probably just to shake his shoulder now he had finally noticed the kid’s distant expression, but he came in from the left side, and Kanut saw Zuko’s eyes. It was more than panic in their gold depths. 

Kanut was on his feet before the fire had even moved. Chena was closer to Zuko but they reached him at the same time. If Kanut hadn’t yanked the stunned teenager away, Chena would have broken Zuko’s arm in his own protective panic. 

Tomkin had called it fancy firebending. From Kanut’s vantage point, he had seen otherwise. Zuko had looked like a cornered animal, and he threw the closest weapon to him in pure, blind terror. It wasn’t his fault he had one weapon no one else had. 

“There.” Kanut said, finishing up Tomkin’s bandages. The burn was first degree, second degree in the centre _at a push_. Zuko hadn’t done nearly as much damage as he seemed to think. 

“I think it needs medicinal alcohol.” Tomkin said, expression serious. 

“I think you need to get out before I show you what a real injury looks like.” Kanut grumbled, pinching Tomkin’s unburned arm. The teenager grinned before hopping to his feet. Zuko sat rigidly. 

“Sorry again, Zuko. Please stop blaming yourself." Tomkin said with a reassuring smile and a nod, before he ducked out of the tent to tell the worried world to rest easy; he was alive. 

Kanut didn’t let the silence settle. 

“Tomkin says that scar’s personal." Kanut folded his arms, unmoving. “How personal is personal?" 

Zuko glared at him. For weeks, they had danced around what they both already suspected. They had an understanding, something that transcended their own conscious minds. It was why, in the beginning, Kanut felt so drawn to the brat even when he was just a problematic prisoner, and it was why Zuko drank tea with him while he attacked everyone else. Kanut had speculated and speculated and then denied his speculations and pretended not to see because he didn’t want the enemy humanised, let alone to such a level that he _identified_ with the enemy. But Zuko and Kanut had never been enemies. Kanut was the Angakkuq; he didn’t deal with the politics Hakoda dealt with. He just healed injuries, and Zuko’s looked an awful lot like his own. 

They'd danced around this for weeks. No more. 

“How personal do you think it is?” Zuko’s voice was a rasp, like stones slipping underfoot as they both walked the edge of a cliff. 

Kanut traced the scars on his hands, staring at the burnt boy before him. He didn’t _want_ to be right. He'd seen cuts and bruises, but that scar was devastating. That burn... the agony it would have caused, and the gossip that would have ensued. It was a step too far... right? 

“I think family matters are pretty personal.” Kanut worked his jaw, picking his words carefully; he was speaking in code and if Zuko understood, that was all he needed to know about why exactly he felt so connected to the boy. 

Zuko breathed in deep like Kanut had seen him do when meditating. “I think so too.” He said slowly, and Kanut felt them both tumble off the cliff. 

They talked for hours. Kanut told Zuko about the time Yutu broke his fingers for staring too much. Zuko told Kanut about the time Ozai wrapped his hand around his wrist and left the burned imprint there for weeks after. The kid was exhausted, broken into submission after years of trauma, and some of the things he’d say with a tone of normalcy, and Kanut had to remind him that what they went through wasn’t normal, wasn’t okay, wasn’t love. 

They both deserved better. 

Kanut cared about Yutu because he was his father. Kanut hated Yutu because of what he did to him. He was learning that it was okay to have both emotions live so savagely in him. The first step was acknowledging them, and now, he was learning to ease them. For so many years, he avoided how he felt because he didn’t want to give his father anything. Now, he knew he was doing this for no one but himself. It had been years since Yutu last hurt him, but only now was Kanut starting to heal. Zuko needed to heal too, and Kanut knew that, in order to do that, Zuko first needed to accept that none of it, _none of it_ , was his fault. 

So they talked, and Kanut called him out when he saw fit, and at times, Kanut feared he was losing Zuko, when his gold eyes fell to his hands, when he insisted his father’s treatment of him was fair, but every time Kanut offered him just one more cup of tea, the boy accepted, and Kanut knew that, for all the pain, they would both be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro imagine you're hiking with ur friend around a trail you know really well and they start bitching about how tired and in pain they are and you try console them all the while knowing there’s a big fucking mountain coming up that they’re oblivious to? Yeah that’s how I've felt responding to you guys about chapter 9. funniest shit. You were all getting upset about THAT while i was sat here knowing full well about THIS. anyways Tomkin is an oblivious idiot still and he will tell the earring joke until he gets an appropriate reaction. I'm stretched too thin with these dumbasses do you know how tiring it is to keep an eye on where Hakoda’s moral turmoil is at while also dealing with Kanut’s grief and Tom Nook’s stupidity and all the while Zuko is almost constantly having breakdowns?? Like can all of you please, please, for my sake, chill the fuck out. Have a nap. Get a job.


	11. i. Of Scorched Shirts And Burnt Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow the response from chapter 10 was...... insane. You guys ate that shit UP I love you all wow what the fuck. ALSO 20,000 HITS?!?! How has this fic overtaken a few other fics I love?? Do you know how fucking mindblown I am??? Also a few of you seemed to think this fic is finished now or about to be finished.... lads we aren’t even halfway. Like, the good shit hasn’t even started yet. You know that right? Right????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 isn’t very eventful as it’s sort of clean up from chapter 10, besides after 9’s cliffhanger and 10’s emotional turmoil, I think we ALL need a boring chapter lmao. Literally all that happens is Tom Nook melt my heart as per and Zuko goes and talks to his dumb uncle about politics, as well as Aput and kind of Chena but Chena is an inept piece of shit (who I love). It's almost like he’s discussed Lee with everyone except Tulok... hmm.... chapter 12 out Thursday ;) . Kanna is SO sick of being the SWT’s sole logic-bearer but Hakoda said No Thanks I Have Another Son Now. 
> 
> mentally I'm reliving something that happened this week, basically I've been visiting my sister and we were walking through the city and this teenage boy FELL OFF HIS SKATEBOARD like fully looked painful as fuck. And of course MY DUMBASS sees a teenage boy with a skateboard and immediately.... does not know how to act. And he fell right near me and instead of helping the poor boy or actually being useful, i literally just pointed at his skateboard while he was on the floor AND SAID YIKES. fucking YIKES. Who the FUCK says YIKES. ?”?!£!?£”!?$”£>TVSERT Anyway I will now be killing myself bye <3  
> .  
> bitches there's more fanart and by god is it beautiful = [here](https://twitter.com/qrroft_/status/1299763534490988547) and [here](https://twitter.com/qrroft_/status/1298385184585375752) by the same artist who is literally incredible and makes me feel Actual Human Emotions <3  
> .  
> EDIT: I FORGOT TO SAY DON'T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN'T DO OH FUCK IT'S TOO LATE NO-

If the ice wasn't so impossibly hard beneath him, Zuko would be heavily considering burying himself away and never resurfacing again. 

He had waited for embarrassment to hit him after what happened with the Chief and the things he told Kanut in a hopeful moment of solidarity, but it never came, so he kept talking and hugging and crying. It had been nice, but the next day, the morning came with the harsh reality of it all. Zuko had broken down, figuratively and literally, and the thought of it made his cheeks flush. How was he supposed to look Hakoda in the eye today? He didn’t want to leave his tent. It wouldn’t be so bad with Kanut, because Kanut had told him things too, things that made sense even though Kanut insisted that one day Zuko would see how little sense they made, so Zuko had ammunition against Kanut as much as Kanut had against him. But what did he have against the Chief? 

Zuko growled in frustration, hating himself as he turned in his bed, the multiple layers of furs he was using to keep him warm tickling his chin. If he concentrated, he could feel Hakoda’s hands on his face, feel himself _letting_ Hakoda’s hands be on his face. 

Zuko buried his face in his pillows and prayed to Agni that the world would go away. 

The world did not go away. 

“Rise and shine, asshole.” Chena growled from the tent’s entrance. The last time Zuko saw him, Chena almost broke his arm. Zuko immediately sat up straight, glaring at the Tribesman. He was expecting a fight, or at least an argument, but Chena had a strange look in his grey eyes as he studied Zuko, a mix of curiosity and a peculiar denial. 

“Listen, shitnut.” Chena said, ducking his head to enter the tent fully. Zuko tensed, wanting to jump to his feet but not wanting to give the big warrior the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. “Kanut’s just given me this big lecture on why I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that yesterday, and how you’ve got this big fucking scar on your back or whatever from where I cut you, and he kept going on and on about how it’s apparently morally corrupt to hurt a teenager, or something, even if said teenager is the Prince of the enemy nation who happened to _burn_ one of our own-.” 

“It was an _accident_ , I said I was sorry.” Zuko hissed, because Chena wasn’t in any position of authority and Zuko swore he could beat him this time if they fought again. Chena drew himself up like Zuko had seen him do time and time again when his temper got to him, but peculiarly, he released his breath in a sigh. 

“Whatever, kid.” 

“I’m not a-.” 

“Do you want to shut up for two seconds? _Spirits_.” Chena growled impatiently, and Zuko worked his mouth shut. 

“What I'm trying to say is that,” Chena was speaking quieter now, indignant, “Kanut wants me to apologise, and I said I would because it’ll get him off my back and I don’t want him letting me haemorrhage next time I need treatment, but I want you and me to be clear; forced apologies aren’t apologies. You’re Fire Nation. Killing you would probably _save_ lives, if anything. I don’t trust you, Tui, I don’t even _like_ you-.” 

“I’ll tell Kanut you said sorry if you go away.” Zuko said suddenly, and Chena blinked in surprise. 

“You will?” 

Zuko nodded. “You have no reason to like or trust me. I don’t understand why the others do. I mean... I'm happy they do, but if they didn’t it would make sense. I know now what the Fire Nation took from you all. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Because Zuko couldn’t deny what his people had done here. He didn’t think the Fire Nation were evil, and he still believed in their prosperity and honour, but in this small part of the world, they had been villainous. They led Tomkin’s parents to suicide, they murdered the Chief’s wife, they raided the south of their cultural heritage over and over again, and now Zuko had come here, albeit against his will, and burned one of their own. That wasn’t something he could just ignore. 

Chena just stared like Zuko had started speaking a foreign language. “Huh. Well look at that.” He mused, though Zuko didn’t know what he was getting at. All Zuko was focussing on was the fact that Kanut, a man who now had something on Zuko, who had seen him vulnerable to an extent, had gone to Chena and, instead of exploiting what Zuko gave him, he kept it secret, telling the big warrior to _apologise_. 

“This stays between us then, deal?” Chena said, raising an eyebrow. Neither of them liked one another, but there was a sudden comradery there, and Zuko smirked. 

“Deal.” He agreed. 

When Chena left, Zuko knew he had to get up now, had to face the tribe for his final day in the South Pole. He forced the thought of the Earth Kingdom from his mind. _Then what, Hakoda?_ He hadn’t meant to sound desperate. _I’ll think of something_. Of course, Zuko still had to survive the south first. 

He was almost grateful for Chena’s strange behaviour; it jarred him enough to make him a little numb, and that gave him the strength to rise. He pulled two objects from his pocket; the only two objects that actually belonged to him in this strange land. His red ribbon and his white lotus tile. He stared at the two a moment, conflicted though he was unsure as to why, before pocketing the tile again. With practised hands, Zuko held his red ribbon, tying his hair as he always did. Some mornings, when he concentrated, he could swear this thin piece of ribbon smelt of blood. He felt uncomfortable as he touched it now, like something cellular in him had changed last night. He thought maybe there was something wrong with how familiar he was with the smell of blood. 

_You’re Fire Nation._ Said with such malice. _Killing you would probably save lives._

Was that how Chena felt about Lee? Zuko knew Lee’s death was a sad outcome of war in the eyes of Tomkin and Nanook, and an unfortunate sacrifice of leadership in the eyes of Hakoda. But what did Aput think? What did Kanut think? Could Zuko even begrudge such a cold outlook, after he’d just accepted the damage his nation had done to these people? 

To him, Lee was an innocent teenager who was in the wrong place at the wrong time thanks to Zuko’s own poor leadership, dying at Tulok’s hands. But to Chena, Lee was a soldier who perpetuated every bad thing caused by the Fire Nation's presence in the south. Whether that made Chena the problem or Lee the problem depended entirely on perspective, and Zuko had never considered that before. 

“Little Tom’s looking for you, Your Royal Shittiness.” Aput said as soon as Zuko emerged from his tent, running a whetstone over a machete by the campfire. The campfire that was now lit, like nothing had happened last night, but even from here, Zuko saw the burn mark on the log. 

“Uh... thanks.” Zuko mumbled, watching Aput’s every move. He knew Hakoda, Tomkin and Kanut weren’t annoyed with him, he knew they accepted that what happened last night was an accident, and apparently, in this part of the world, accidents went by unpunished for whatever reason. Zuko considered himself lucky, despite Hakoda’s continued insistence that he wouldn’t be hurt. 

Zuko also knew that Chena was back to hating him instead of tolerating him, no matter how hard Kanut tried to make amends between the pair. 

But Zuko had no idea how Aput felt. The man had stayed predominantly on the fence back on the Ullaakut, but he was good friends with Chena, and Zuko wouldn’t blame him if he hated him. 

“I’d like to... apologise for my behaviour last night.” Zuko said awkwardly, and Aput narrowed his eyes. “It was reckless and I wasn’t thinking straight. I never meant to hurt anyone.” 

It was quiet for a few seconds, before Aput sighed deeply. “All the Chief told us is that you had good reason and Tomkin shouldn’t have pushed you so much. If that’s all he’s telling us, I assume there’s a justification for it. That means he trusts you, which is the only reason Chena hasn’t skinned you alive yet.” Aput said, and Zuko’s heart flipped. “I trust the Chief implicitly, so I accept your apology, but if you ever hurt any of them again-.” 

“I won’t." Zuko startled himself with the ease of that promise, and Aput nodded once, letting his threat go unsaid. 

The Chief hadn’t told anyone. He told the tribe enough for them not to have Zuko killed, but he’d kept the details private. Why had he done that? Hakoda could have so easily thrown the carcass of Zuko’s past to the pack of southern wolves, watching as they tore him to shreds; appeased. But he hadn’t. _Why?_

Zuko was about to leave Aput be when the wind turned, Zuko’s ribbon which he thought he’d done so tight flickering out of the corner of his eye. He huffed, retightening it, the smooth fabric slipping over his fingers. The smell of blood eased over him, and Zuko shuddered, letting his hands fall to his sides when he was done. 

Zuko was talking before he could stop himself. 

“How many Fire Nation soldiers have you killed, Aput?” Zuko asked, and the suddenness of the question made Aput pause, blinking. He narrowed his eyes at Zuko, hesitating, before speaking in a level tone. 

“Six.” Aput said. Zuko flinched. 

“Do you regret it?” Zuko asked slowly. 

Aput returned to sharpening his machete, but he was doing it harder than before, which made Zuko question his; “Of course not; they were Fire Nation.” 

As soon as the words left Aput’s mouth, with enough speed to hint at practice, Aput winced. “I didn’t mean-… Like not you, you’re just a kid. Well, you’re Fire Nation, but-.” 

Aput cut himself off, eyes widening as he realised some sort of conflict that Zuko was oblivious to. Zuko might have questioned him, but he was too angry. Aput was right; he _was_ Fire Nation. Why did he deserve to survive these men when so many of his own people hadn’t? All because of a stupid royal title he didn’t even deserve, didn’t even _want?_

But Zuko had learnt something in his time with the Water Tribe. The war was not glorious. He’d been taught his entire life that it was the Fire Nation’s way of spreading their wealth with the other nations, that everything they did, they did for a chance at a more opulent world. Zuko never thought that maybe some of the world didn’t see it like that, that maybe some of the world was rather happy as it was. Zuko wasn’t sure what he thought anymore, but he knew that, for all the things the war was, one thing it wasn't was glorious. He'd been forced to see that with his own eyes, as Tomkin grasped his shirt, as the women hissed _ashmaker_ from their tents, as Lee bled out on his own deck. 

“Do you need me to do anything?” Zuko eventually asked. Aput seemed to be getting whiplash from the jumps in Zuko’s conversation, but instead of commenting, he just eased up a little, returning to normal. Aput was usually the one who wound up supervising his chores. 

Aput shrugged, nodding to Hakoda’s tent. “Chief's been talking with Kanna all morning, so he hasn’t ordered anything for you. It wouldn’t kill you to take a break, kid.” 

“I’m not a kid. And I don’t need a break.” Zuko stared at Hakoda’s tent. What was he telling Kanna? Kanna, the woman who didn’t even _try_ to hide her hatred of Zuko? Were they simply discussing the logistics of when the crew of the Ullaakut would leave in the early morning? Or was he telling her all about Zuko’s pathetic grovelling last night? 

“Well, if you insist,” Aput smiled evilly, “I’m sure Tulok could use some help. He's storing all the caribou-yak for winter. Should take him all day.” 

Of all the villagers that needed help, why did it have to be _Tulok?_

Zuko desperately wracked his mind for an excuse that didn’t make him look tired, even though all the sleep in the world wasn’t aiding his bone-deep exhaustion since the sun abandoned him, and he _didn’t_ need a break, but he was a terrible liar and he was already panicking about how he would lie for Chena; he couldn’t lie to Aput on top of that. 

Zuko scowled, but was saved from responding by a sudden yell that rang through the village. 

“Zuko!” 

Zuko turned to see Tomkin barrelling towards him at full speed. Zuko just had time to jump out of the way before Tomkin got the chance to knock him over fully, but that didn’t stop the boy from grabbing his arm in order to slow himself. He steadied them both, meeting Zuko’s bewilderment with an out of breath grin. 

“Long story. Nanook’s trying to kill me. You're going to protect me because you owe me after setting me on fire.” Tomkin blurted out, the words a messy jumble as he kept flicking his head around him in paranoia. 

“I did _not_ set you on fire and- wait _why_ is Nanook trying to kill you?” Zuko asked, highly concerned. The two boys seemed to get on so well normally, and Tomkin was _smiling_. It made no sense. 

“Not literally.” Tomkin clarified, and Zuko felt relief pierce him. “I don’t think. Maybe.” 

"Tui and La, Little Tom, what’ve you done?” Aput asked with a tired sigh, like this behaviour was normal. 

“YOU’RE DEAD THIS TIME ASSHOLE!” A thundering yell sounded, and Zuko snapped around to see Nanook sprinting towards them, enraged and... why was he shirtless? Zuko stared for a few seconds, frozen in his own confusion, before Tomkin grabbed his arm and started dragging. 

“ _What the fuck did you do?!_ ” Zuko hissed, running from the enraged twenty-year-old behind them. Zuko had never heard Nanook yell before. 

“Your habit of swearing in stressful situations is not very princely, Your Highness!” Tomkin grinned from his side as they leapt over a low washing line of drying clothes, earning themselves a round of yells from a few of the women. 

“Why am _I_ running?!” Zuko raised his voice when Tomkin didn’t answer. “I haven’t done anything!” 

“Guilty by association!” Tomkin retorted, before cackling out a laugh as they weaved through a few of the tents. Tomkin rounded a corner too heavily, and the next thing Zuko knew, he was watching Tomkin topple, skidding on the ice, and suddenly, Zuko was stood in between a fallen-over-Tomkin and an angry-shirtless-Nanook. 

“Excuse me, Zuko, would you kindly step aside so I can _break every bone in Tomkin’s body_.” Nanook smiled sweetly, all three of them getting their breath back. 

Tomkin laughed again. “Nan, you look a little chilly.” 

“I am going to kill you.” Nanook seethed. 

Tomkin didn’t even flinch, he just held his hands up in a mock surrender. “You can’t hurt me, I'm a cripple. Everyone knows you can’t hurt cripples.” 

Nanook promptly grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at Tomkin’s face. “You got one tiny burn!” He yelled, stooping for another snowball. 

Zuko ducked from this next snowball, and spoke up before he found himself in the midst of a fight. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” He asked Nanook, and the way Tomkin laughed louder and Nanook’s eyebrows shot to his light brown hair told him he shouldn’t have asked. 

When Nanook shouted, it was loud enough to make the village children jump. "Because that idiot set all of mine on fire!” 

“I was settling my chi!” 

“You aren’t a fucking firebender!” 

“Well I know that _now_ , but I had to check!” 

“With a _candle?!_ ” 

“Well, maybe if Zuko had been awake I wouldn’t have had to-!” 

“How is this _my_ fault?!” 

“ _Boys!_ ” A voice hollered, interrupting Zuko’s confused cry, and the three boys blinked in surprise as they turned to see Kanut stomping from the healer’s tent. 

“You three have five seconds to shut up before I start throwing shit.” Kanut threatened, and Zuko had never seen a book be wielded as a weapon before, and he’d never been threatened while still feeling okay before. But he did. As Kanut pointed his book at them dramatically, Zuko knew he was joking. He just _knew_. Kanut wasn’t going to throw anything. He was joking, and Zuko was privy to the joke, and he felt okay. 

“All of my shirts are burnt.” Nanook whined, and Kanut’s gaze skipped straight past Zuko – the _firebender_ – to land on Tomkin. 

“What did you do?” 

“Nothing!” Tomkin was almost as bad at lying as Zuko. “Nanook keeps trying to hurt my wound.” 

“It’s not a wound, it’s a tiny burn.” Nanook snapped impatiently, before looking to Zuko. “Could you not have thrown _more_ of the campfire at him?” 

Zuko still wasn’t sure how to navigate the fact that his grave mistake which he thought would result in injury or even death was now being joked about. He kept waiting for them to hate him, but they never did. There was something heavy in the pit of his stomach, something that expanded and toiled when he saw Nanook’s blue eyes or heard Tomkin's easy laugh, something that became unignorable with every second Zuko spent around the two boys. He looked to Kanut for help, but the healer just rolled his eyes and shrugged a very ‘not my problem’ shrug; one Uncle always used to do on the Erlong. 

“Scream at each other on the other side of the village.” Kanut said, before going back to his tent. Just before he disappeared, though, he paused, turning to Zuko. 

“Hey, tough guy, you spoken to Chena at all?” Kanut asked, a conspiring look in his blue eyes. 

Zuko took a deep breath, concentrating. “Yeah, he said he was sorry for grabbing me yesterday.” 

Kanut nodded, a smug grin overcoming him, and Zuko tried not to sigh in relief that the healer had believed him so easily. 

“You got Chena to apologise?!” Tomkin yelled at Zuko, before quieting again when Kanut pointed his book at him with a surprising amount of hostility. 

Tomkin continued to badger him about Chena, but Zuko ignored him as he watched the healer finally return to his tent. Zuko wasn’t looking for excuses, and it wasn’t that the feeling in his stomach was becoming enough to make his fingers tremble a little; he actually _did_ need to speak to Kanut. He’d asked everyone else... 

“I just need to ask Kanut something.” 

They must have heard the sudden seriousness in his tone, because Nanook paused the headlock he’d grabbed Tomkin in, staring at Zuko. Zuko set off before they could ask him if he was okay, because they always asked him if he was okay, and they always noticed if he wasn’t. 

“Will you come find us after?” Nanook asked. 

“Yeah, I want to teach you how to fish.” Tomkin added, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked concerned, and Zuko didn’t have it in him to reassure the boy. 

“Okay, sure.” Zuko said. It was the first lie that came easily to him. Maybe because he turned away like a coward, ducking into the healer’s tent. The air wasn’t so thick in here. 

“I’m busy.” Kanut said immediately, feet kicked up as he lounged on one of the beds. There were books scattered everywhere, as it seemed wherever Kanut went, a trail of books was bound to follow, including one on top of the chest to Zuko’s right. It had an expensive red cover, weathered by time, and the title was written in curling gold letters, too intricate for Zuko to make out. 

“With your hobby?” Zuko asked with a small smile, remembering Kanut and the Chief’s debate yesterday as he nodded at the book in Kanut’s hand. 

It had the desired effect and Kanut scoffed in offense. “Reading is not a fucking hobby, don’t you start. I can’t handle two of you; it’ll be like Sokka all over again.” 

“What do you mean?” Zuko asked, because for how much Hakoda mentioned his son, Zuko had never quite mustered up the bravery needed to ask about him. Hakoda clearly loved Sokka, loved him in a way Zuko didn’t recognise at all, and Zuko had _hunted_ that boy. He had a good reason, and no one was forcing the idiot Water Tribesman to hang around the Avatar, so why did Zuko feel guilty all the same? Too guilty to ask Hakoda about him. 

“Sokka absolutely idolises Hakoda. He always used to trail him around, and if Hakoda made a dumb joke, Sokka would tell it later. It was fucking annoying.” 

Zuko was starting to learn that when Kanut said ‘fucking annoying’ he actually meant ‘really sweet’. 

“Looking back, Sokka was a lot more like Hakoda than I realised.” Kanut said, blue eyes distant as he chuckled. “They’re both notorious for being the strategist; the guy with the plan.” 

Zuko nodded, because he remembered watching the Water Tribe boy back when he didn’t know Hakoda, let alone the connection there. The boy – Sokka – was always coming up with things on the spot, intelligent things Zuko never would have thought of, like turning the pirates against Zuko that one time. 

Kanut had said Sokka was notorious for coming up with plans. Uncle Iroh always used to say the opposite about Zuko. 

“Ugh, one thing Sokka loved that even Hakoda can’t stand,” Kanut groaned, and Zuko tried not to smile at the fact that, once the healer started talking about Sokka, he was struggling to stop, “was the fucking _poetry_. Kid couldn’t get enough of it. Any play or sonnet Kanna got from the supplies, he pinched-.” 

“Really?!” Zuko asked, sounding far too bewildered and making his ears flush as he quickly calmed himself. Kanut narrowed his eyes anyway. Zuko did not elaborate. He didn’t want to talk about the fact that theatre and poetry had been his own soft spot since he was a child, that the few happy memories of his youth were seeing the plays on Ember Island, that he used to jump in excitement whenever Uncle returned from his travels with a rare Earth Kingdom poem. Kanut raised a questioning eyebrow. Father called this sort of thing emasculating. Zuko did not elaborate. 

“Um, anyway...” Zuko roughly changed the topic of conversation, fidgeting under Kanut’s stare. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

Kanut put his book down at that, sitting up to give his full attention. 

____ 

The kid had never been so direct about something he wanted before, and Kanut had never been so eager to humour someone before. Their talk last night had made Zuko finally peak out from his shell; one wrong move would see him jumping right back again. 

“Ask away, tough guy.” Kanut said, trying to keep an air of casualness. 

Zuko took in a deep breath, fidgeting like he always did when he had something to say that actually had value to him, like he was expecting to be laughed at, or shut down, or hit. Of course he expected that; it was exactly what he’d received for the first thirteen years of his life. But for all that, Zuko still wanted to trust people, wanted to feel things, wanted to be vulnerable. He was much braver than Kanut had ever been. 

“I was wondering...” Zuko started carefully. “I know that what the Fire Nation did here was wrong, and that I was ignorant to it. I know that now. And well... I was wondering what you think. Do you think that means the right response is killing Fire Nation soldiers? Do you think that evens it out?” 

He wasn’t being sarcastic or rhetorical; he was genuinely asking. Kanut blinked, taking a few seconds to process the words. He hadn’t known what to expect when Zuko finally asked for something directly, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting a question regarding the moral convolution of justice. 

“I think we’re at war.” Kanut said with a discontent frown. Zuko really didn’t see the problem with the fact he was being forced to tackle such topics at _sixteen_. “I think too many men waste too much time thinking on who’s good and who’s bad, when at the end of the day, the thing about war is that it strips that simplicity from people. In the end, you just need to trust your cause with your whole heart,” Kanut narrowed his eyes on the Prince, “because we’re at war, which means people are going to die. At least let them die knowing you believe in what they fought for.” 

And instead of arguing or scowling like he would have done two weeks ago, the Fire Prince instead listened, nodding his head, expression grim but respectful, because he cared about Kanut’s opinion, because he was actually taking on board and considering what Kanut was saying. 

For weeks, Zuko had been heartless, emotionless, locking up his every fear and feeling. Now was different. Now, he was putting himself out there to ask questions, and Kanut felt _proud_. It was the barest step in the right direction, but it was _progress._

“Did Chena say something, by any chance?” Kanut asked, raising an eyebrow, and Zuko did that annoying thing where he’d blink in surprise, his inability to lie shining through with hilarious obviousness. 

“Sort of.” Zuko mumbled. “ _After_ he apologised.” 

He said those words too purposefully and Kanut worked his jaw, trying not to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever, tough guy. We done talking politics?” Kanut asked, but the Prince’s golden gaze was distant, deep in thought. 

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” He said awkwardly, and just like that, Zuko turned and headed back outside, leaving Kanut once again alone with his thoughts. 

Kanut sighed and shook his head. _Damned teenagers_ , he thought, before returning to his book. 

____ 

Hakoda had known his mother would hate his most recent idea. He hadn’t known she would hate it _this_ much. 

“- the Fire Nation won’t just let you _adopt their heir to the throne_ , Hakoda. You realise this, yes? Please tell me you realise this. And what of General Fong? How will you finance the Ullaakut without his supplies? And-...” 

Hakoda had been tuning in and out. Kanna had been ranting for the best part of an hour after he asked to speak with her privately in his tent this morning to suggest, as casually as possible, that they let Zuko stay with them. Permanently. 

Hakoda had been up all night after sending the boy off to bed, twisting and turning. Every time he tried to fall asleep, he’d jolt awake again, picturing his hand coming down on Sokka’s face, ignited in flames. 

The moment he found out the truth to Zuko, Hakoda came to a decision. He would keep the kid safe. Whatever it took, Hakoda would keep him safe. And until Hakoda could figure out if the Dragon of the West truly was the only normal family member Zuko had, then the safest place for Zuko was at Hakoda’s side, with the Water Tribe warriors. Zuko certainly wasn’t safe in the Fire Nation, and despite Hakoda’s request for fair treatment, Hakoda couldn’t guarantee Zuko would be safe in the Earth Kingdom either. No, Zuko would stay with Hakoda. 

“I’ll write to Fong as soon as we leave the South Pole. I’ll tell him the Fire Prince escaped, and that I’m willing to give him information on his possible whereabouts in turn for a rekindling of our alliance.” Hakoda told Kanna calmly. The Fire Prince and Zuko were two different people in Hakoda’s mind; it wouldn’t be a complete lie. “As for the Fire Nation, his father banished him and hasn’t checked in on him for three years, from what I gather. Zuko has a sister; she’ll take the throne.” 

Kanna shook her head, like Hakoda was being deliberately obtuse. “And Tomkin? The poor boy could have lost his _arm_. You want a threat like that on your ship with you, with your men?” 

Hakoda knew his mother was trying to be the voice of reason, and he knew that this made no logical or political sense, but then, Hakoda never had been very political. He was ruled by his morals. They’d got him this far. 

“Mom, I need you to trust me. Zuko never meant to hurt Tomkin, and even you saw that much. The kid was devastated when he realised what he’d done." Hakoda tried desperately, because as much as he had set his mind on this, he wouldn’t do it without his tribe’s backing. “My instincts tell me this is the right thing to do.” 

Kanna’s grey eyebrows shot up condescendingly. “Your _instincts?_ ” 

“Yes, mom, my instincts.” Hakoda said, because no gain in authority or maturity would ever make him immune to that _look_ his mother gave him. 

The elder folded her arms, expression becoming colder than the ice around her. When she spoke, her tone was cutting, the tone she used when she was more than angry; a scary calm. 

“Well, son, that boy is a Fire Nation royal, and _my_ instincts,” she glared hatefully, “tell me he should be executed before he hurts anyone else.” 

Hakoda sucked in a breath, heart beginning to pound in anger at even the suggestion. But had he not considered killing Zuko himself, back on the Ullaakut? He knew his mother wasn’t a cruel woman; she was just trying to do right by her tribe, like Hakoda had always tried to do. He forced himself to calm down. He needed this, in a way. As a Chief, his decisions directly affected multiple other people. He needed someone to slam into him like this, to test if his beliefs still stood strong after such an attack. If they did, then he’d argue for them, knowing the magnitude of such things. And here, as Kanna gave him every reason to turn his back on Zuko, Hakoda still found his determination to protect the boy unwavering. He wouldn’t change his mind. 

“I’ll write to Fong tomorrow.” Hakoda said, and Kanna must have heard the grit in his voice because her eyes widened in shock. “Zuko stays with me.” 

The elder sighed, like Hakoda was a naïve child walking obliviously into a trap. “Fine, I trust your judgement, Hakoda.” She said tiredly, sadly. “But one day, that boy will be faced with a choice, and he will not choose you.” 

Kanna left and her words dangled in the vacant space like unhinged stars. Hakoda struggled to comprehend them at first, but after a few minutes, he understood. 

There was only so much Hakoda and the other warriors could do for Zuko. The rest, Zuko would have to do alone. 

____ 

Zuko was sat as far from the Southern Water Tribe as he could get while still remaining in their village. He sat alone in the snow, cross-legged as he read a book, leaning against the frozen wall encompassing the settlement. The cold crept past his anorak and pierced the skin of his back. Zuko didn’t mind it. He welcomed it. 

The book he was reading was red and did not belong to him, but in his defence, what did Kanut expect Zuko to do when he found a book on firebenders in the healer’s tent? This book covered everything. It even illustrated some katas, and Zuko was behind on his training by now. He wouldn’t put the words into practise, but reading over them, refamiliarizing himself with them, felt like it would help. He flicked the page absentmindedly. Zuko was starting to see why Kanut loved reading so much; it was calming. It was hard for Zuko to focus on his tangled mind while he focussed on the words. 

_Lightning Generation._ The title jumped out at Zuko and he sucked in a breath, a mix of surprise and excitement, the same reaction he had when he first generated a flame. Zuko left Caldera when Azula was only eleven, but even at that age, her skill level was unprecedented, and Zuko had heard rumour that she had only improved in his absence. She had dabbled in lightning generation back then, but struggled controlling it. Zuko wondered if she’d mastered it yet, before shaking his head. It was Azula. Of course she had. 

Father could generate lightning like it was easy, and Zuko knew Uncle could too. A memory surfaced in his mind, buried by these confusing few weeks. That storm, how the Erlong trembled beneath his feet. He had been busy catching the helmsman from falling, almost twisting his shoulder in order to hold that man’s weight, but he’d seen. He'd seen the lightning bolt that was supposed to hit the deck, he’d seen Uncle reach up and grab it, he’d seen Uncle _redirect it._

Zuko was just wondering if he could remember the technique when two blue figures appeared in his vision. 

“Whatcha reading?” Tomkin asked with a grin, plopping himself beside Zuko without invitation. 

“You said you’d come find us!” Nanook complained, sitting on Zuko’s other side. 

The weight in the pit of Zuko’s stomach returned with enough suddenness to make him gasp quietly in shock. He felt like he’d swallowed something sharp, something heavy. 

“I was busy.” Zuko eventually said when it became apparent Nanook and Tomkin’s imploring blue eyes weren’t going to relent. He felt physically uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but watch the two boys carefully, particularly Tomkin. He watched the twitches in the boy’s brown cheeks upon the impulse to smile, the way he subconsciously cradled his injured arm, how he had flecks of green in his blue eyes that narrowed minutely on Zuko. They only narrowed for a moment, jumping back to their wide selves upon being caught, but Zuko noticed. Was Tomkin watching him? Was Tomkin planning something? Revenge? Was he going to hurt Zuko? 

It was the logical thing to do. 

“You alright, Your Highness?” Nanook nudged Zuko’s shoulder and Zuko startled hard enough for his book to fall off his lap. He didn’t even care that he’d lost his page. 

“I’m fine. I need to go.” Zuko said quickly, the weight in his stomach pulling him down as he scrambled to his feet. Nanook and Tomkin looked between one another before looking back up at Zuko, confusion on Nanook’s face and hurt on Tomkin’s. Why was he hurt? Had Zuko touched his arm in his haste to stand? Had Zuko hurt him _again?_

Zuko scooped up his book, shoved it deep in his pocket, and stomped back to the main village, leaving two young Watertribesmen staring after him in concern for the second time that day. 

____ 

The Prince of the Fire Nation was avoiding them. 

Nanook had suspected so much this morning when Zuko ditched them for Kanut. He had considered it a few more times throughout the day when he saw Zuko pottering about alone. But now, as he and Tomkin ambushed Zuko in hopes of finally hanging out with him, causing the Prince to respond with a quick retreat, Nanook was certain. 

“That was odd.” Tomkin said with a worried frown. 

Nanook slapped the other boy’s head. “He’s avoiding us, idiot.” 

Nanook was still justly upset over his burnt shirts. He was wearing one of Tulok’s because he was closest to Nanook’s size, but even then, the shirt was too broad on Nanook, and it smelt of those scented soaps Tulok bought out of his own pocket when they were in port because they apparently ‘got rid of everyone else’s hideous stench.’ 

“What? Why?” Tomkin asked with wide, unhappy eyes. “Did we do something wrong?” 

Nanook narrowed his gaze on the Fire Nation teenager in the distance, watching as Zuko sat at the campfire alone, pale fingers carefully tracing over the charred log. 

“No.” Nanook said slowly. “I think it’s the opposite.” 

“You think he’s avoiding us because _he_ did something wrong?” Tomkin asked, still not getting it. “But I forgave him, and everyone knows it was an accident.” 

Nanook hummed in consideration, deep in thought. He'd felt a flash of fear of the Fire Prince last night, as he stared up at Zuko and realised this boy had the power to end Nanook’s life with an elegant twirl of his wrist. But Nanook had checked himself. Zuko had always had that power, and had always controlled it. Nanook had realised that firebending in and of itself was not evil, just as a sword was never evil. It depended entirely on the wielder, and Zuko’s heart was good. Nanook was certain of that. Nanook had forgiven him without even considering it. 

But the Chief had gathered everyone this morning and told them that Zuko’s scar was a sensitive subject, that they had to trust that, for whatever reason, Zuko felt no other choice but to burn Tomkin last night. He realised his mistake and was horrified with himself, and he wouldn’t do it again. But the tribe weren’t allowed to pester him about the scar, nor blame him for Tomkin’s burn. It was all very mysterious, which was unlike Hakoda, but Nanook trusted the Chief, and he also knew Zuko. Whatever Hakoda wasn’t telling them, it was bad, and it was better for Zuko this way. Nanook could connect some of the dots; he’d always been more observant than the others. He needed no other explanation. 

Nanook could be cynical and unforgiving, but when it came to his friends, he would protect them. 

“I think he expected to be punished for what he did,” Nanook said quietly, “and when he wasn’t, that confused him. Uncertainty is worse for some people. He's doing what he knows. If we won’t punish him, then he’ll do it himself.” 

_Whether he realised it or not._

Zuko had always been his own worst enemy. 

Nanook got to his feet with a sudden determination, yanking a confused but eager Tomkin up with him. 

“What’re we doing?” Tomkin asked. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Nanook’s lips curled into a smile. “We’re going to hang out with our friend.” 

Tomkin took a second to realise what Nanook had said before beaming in delight. He had spent almost three weeks trying to get Nanook to like Zuko as much as he did. Deep down, Nanook had known for days that a royal title and a Fire Nation heritage hadn’t stopped Zuko from growing on him, but it was different to say it aloud. 

Zuko was Nanook’s friend. 

Zuko was Nanook’s friend, and Nanook could be cynical and unforgiving, but when it came to his friends, he would protect them. 

He would protect them, even from themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I mean about this chapter being uneventful? Nonetheless it felt necessary to tie things up, and chapter 12 is a bit of a Big Deal so here we are. Back to the normal upload schedule gang! Also we hit 420 bookmarks the other day lol. Okay I'll grow up now. Here’s a link to a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0o07PdVjSMqbR3blrcDryp) i made for this fic btw. A few people have asked if I listen to music when writing, I DON’T because that requires more braincells than I possess, however music is literally my muse and reason for existing so I couldn’t NOT make a playlist. This playlist is a little all over the place but all the songs have a reason for being on there either because they simply make me think of a character or because of some convoluted reason like where I was when I heard the song lol, so feel free to start up a convo about this/why a song is on there/anything to do with music, because I LOVE MUSIC and will talk to you for hours. As for the playlist name, my writing may or may not be a big secret that my friends and family don’t know about hence why I didn’t want to call the playlist after this fic. Don't laugh.


	12. i. Kamikaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay lowkey this is the easiest chapter I've ever written and idk if that’s just because what happens is one of the visions i had for this fic before I even wrote it or because this has just built up so much for 12 fuckin chapters, but when I started writing this I literally just didn’t stop and it only took me like 20 mins. So yeah. This chapter be kinda political and if this is what it takes for zuko to realise he’s been indoctrinated then baby call me a politician. Someone needs to make a squad name for Chena, Aput, Hakoda, Kanut and Tulok because they’re the Adults and they keep coming together to chat shit and I respect it SO hard. Tulok <3\. This is also the last South Pole chapter! Bro remember when i thought there’d only be like three here lmao there’s been six but go off past me. When we leave the South Pole, there’s a fluff break, but after that the Earth Kingdom plotline comes in clutch, so stay tuned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey whorebags. Oh look at this, it's 4:30pm and i haven't updated despite usually posting at the arsecrack of dawn because i have the self restraint of Jasper Cullen on Bella's birthday (shameless twilight references that you can do nothing about). Why, i hear you ask? Because i am an IDIOT. do you want to know how i started this lovely, sunny day? Hungover to the gods, that's how. yep i went to a party. yep i drank too much. yep someone kept suggesting shots. yep that someone was me. I was also the only one of my friends hungover which not only makes no sense (pointedly ignores that i drank the most because i am still supposed to be the heavyweight of the group) but is GROSSLY unfair. We all went to breakfast to try recover. It Didn't Work. You know when you think you've hit rock bottom, but then something happens that makes you realise you were actually penthouse level and you didn't appreciate it but now you're falling all the way to the ground floor which is ACTUALLY rock bottom? Yeah so i chundered in a weatherspoons toilet. If you aren't British, spoons is a lovely establishment and a staple of our culture in that they're known up and down the nation for being absolute shitholes. seriously. this is the equivalent of me being sick in an alleyway full of rats. So yes that is how i started the day and that is why the update is a little late and if any of you pricks laugh it me i will NOT hold back. Here's chapter 12 you cretins.  
> .  
> okay have a lovely day don't do anything I wouldn't do even though there might be a recurring theme in these author's notes in that there's not much my dumbass wouldn't do  
> .  
> (‘hella what’s going on with the chapter titles’ bro I literally have no idea what you’re talking about I can’t read sorry <3) (I've been meaning to do this since like chapter 8 and I keep forgetting) (I mean what) (what are you talking about) (I've never seen that man before in my life)

Tulok’s little boy was four years old. When Tulok left on the Ullaakut, Juatan had been a bumbling toddler that pulled at Tulok’s hair when he finally had to let his son go. Juatan could say basic words. Mama, papa, snow, fire. Stringing them together into sentences had been another matter entirely. But Tulok’s son was smart. He could tell. Call it the bias of a father, but Tulok saw the observant glint in Juatan’s icy blue eyes; the same icy blue as Tulok’s. 

Now, Tulok’s little boy was four years old. He was physically capable of running into Tulok’s arms when Tulok returned south, except Juatan hadn’t done that. Instead, he’d held his mother’s sleeve, confused. Tulok was a foggy memory for Juatan, a stranger. 

As heart-breaking as it was, Tulok knew he was lucky. Juatan was young and it was easy for Tulok to slowly start building up a relationship with him again in the few days he’d been home, hoping to leave something permanent, something Juatan would remember, because Tulok didn’t know when he’d be back next. Tulok was lucky because Juatan would forget the two years his father was absent as he grew older; he was already forgetting them now. Hakoda hadn’t been so lucky. Sokka and Katara had been old enough to understand when Hakoda left, and now, he was missing their teenage years, a time so sacred, so integral to their upbringing. Yes, Tulok was lucky. That was what he told himself when Juatan looked upon him with nothing but barren acknowledgement. 

This was the lucky outcome, in a war. 

Tulok had spent the day storing the caribou-yak for winter. The warriors were setting off at dawn tomorrow and he wanted to make sure his village’s supplies were in tact before he left. He also needed a quick break, not that he’d let his wife see that. What with a four-year-old son and now a baby niece too, Tulok was exhausted. His sister teasingly reminded him that he’d only done three days with the children and that he’d been spoilt these past two years. Tulok thought maybe he had been spoilt, but not the way she meant it. Not spoilt as in coddled, but spoilt as in mouldy food; ruined, contaminated, _different_. 

Tulok sighed, wiping his hands down his anorak to try and rid them of the smell of caribou-yak meat. It was no good. He'd need to wash before he returned to his tent, otherwise his wife and sister would go crazy. The thought made Tulok smirk as he pulled his sweaty hair back from his face with a blue ribbon. He was just walking outside when he bumped into someone small, and he jumped in surprise when the surly gold glare of the Fire Prince turned to him. 

“Easy, hotshot. What's got you so mad?” Tulok asked with a smirk, but it was careful. He couldn’t forget what happened last night, nor what Hakoda had told the tribe this morning. Tulok was a little worried about the Fire Nation teenager. 

“Nothing. Leave me alone.” The Prince hissed, and Tulok sighed. 

Tulok had a sneaking suspicion that the Fire Prince hated him more than he hated everyone else. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know what he’d done, but he could tell in the furtive glares the Prince sent him on the Ullaakut, the way he silenced whenever Tulok was near. Tulok had thought he was just being paranoid at first - Aput often said he’d always been desperate to have everyone like him – but now as he stared into the golden eyes of Prince Zuko, he saw nothing but indubitable animosity. 

Maybe it was because he was so tired, or because he’d done nothing but handle disgusting caribou-yak meat all day, or because every day the Prince was with them he seemed more and more human, but Tulok decided this had gone on too long. 

Tulok crossed his arms, unmoving as he stared down the teenager. 

“We need to talk.” 

____ 

Tomkin and Nanook were relentless. Everywhere Zuko went, they followed. Everything Zuko said, they disregarded. They had to be up to something. Zuko could hardly breathe. It wasn’t so bad with Nanook, because Zuko didn’t burn Nanook, but Tomkin... Tomkin shouldn’t be doing this. Tomkin should hate him, or challenge him to some sort of Water Tribe duel, or promise revenge. But no, Tomkin just carried on smiling and being an idiot and _not hating Zuko_. It made no sense, and Zuko needed to get away from it. 

So, he fled. The first chance he got, when Tomkin and Nanook’s attention was grasped by a plate of sea prunes, Zuko ducked behind a tent and walked furiously away. He made it a few metres before smacking into someone. 

Not just someone. _Tulok._

Agni, could this day get any worse? 

“We need to talk.” 

Apparently, it could. 

And Zuko knew he should walk away from this conversation, but he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe he was still delirious after the stupidity of last night. Maybe part of him knew that even if he survived the South Pole, he might not survive the Earth Kingdom regardless of whatever ‘plan’ Hakoda formulated, so he had limited time. Maybe he was sick of seeing Lee’s killer walk around so... so _unburdened_. Zuko didn’t blame the tribe or the Chief for what happened to Lee, but he couldn’t quite look at Tulok without picturing his lean body twisting and letting that boomerang fly. 

Zuko’s fingers brushed his pai sho tile. He remembered blood and terror and helplessness, watching a teenage soldier choking, _doing nothing_. 

His words were hateful. “What about?” 

____ 

The Prince wasted no time. Tulok admired that about him. It’d almost got him killed on the Ullaakut, but the crew were starting to see the Prince’s rough edges as less threatening and more endearing these days. 

“I want to know why you hate me so much.” Tulok said simply, but he couldn’t deny his worry. Chena would tell him not to care what this boy felt, that Prince Zuko was the enemy, that his feelings didn’t matter. Even Aput, who firmly denied the time the crew caught him smiling warmly as he watched the Prince finally get caulking right, would take that mindset when push came to shove. Tulok was too sensitive; always had been. 

“Why does there have to be a reason?” The Prince growled. “You attacked my men, kidnapped me, and have held me prisoner for almost three weeks-.” 

“So did Tom and Nan.” Tulok pointed out, and the Prince abruptly silenced, sputtering for an answer. 

“That’s different.” Prince Zuko finally grit out. 

“Why?” Tulok asked, narrowing his eyes. 

The Prince drew himself up, voice a quiet snarl. “Because _they didn’t kill anyone._ ” 

Tulok sucked in a breath of shock, mind reeling. He remembered attacking the Fire Nation ship that day, how his shirt clung to his back from sweat, how there was just so much _fire_. And then there had been that one soldier. He’d raised a shaking hand, a bright flame erupting from his skin that he threw at Tulok. By the grace of the Spirits, he missed, but he would try again. He wouldn’t miss this time. He would hit Tulok, or one of the crew. Tulok wouldn’t lose any of his friends, not to a Fire Nation soldier. He threw his boomerang with all the precision of decades of practice, and it hit home like he knew it would. He made that soldier’s death quick, and had prayed for him since then. There was no joy, no honour, in killing a man. It wasn’t like hunting animals, where the prize saw a village surviving starvation. This was simple butchering for a war Tulok never even wanted. No one blamed him, though. His crew had all done the same and with much less afterthought than him. Tulok was too sensitive; always had been. 

No one blamed him, until now. 

“You knew him?” Tulok asked quietly. 

“He was one of my soldiers. His name was Lee.” Prince Zuko hissed. “You hear me? He had a name, he _meant_ something. Agni, if I hadn’t...” 

The Prince trailed off, and there was guilt in his voice. Tulok realised they were both feeling very similarly about this situation. Tulok, for knowing he had no choice but to kill that soldier. And Prince Zuko, for knowing he hadn’t done enough to protect him. 

“He wouldn’t have hurt you.” Prince Zuko muttered. “He was _seventeen_.” 

Tulok stared, lips parted, before slowly sitting down. He just... couldn’t hold himself up anymore. The Prince watched him with a horrified expression of shock, but Tulok barely noticed. He remembered throwing the boomerang, thinking just as it left his fingers that his target was a little shorter, a little more awkward, than his fellow soldiers. _We are at war_ , Tulok told himself, but the words that had kept him sane for years were suddenly falling short, because that soldier was _seventeen_. What had Tulok been doing at seventeen? Moping over girls and sneaking out to get drunk behind the snowdrifts, that’s what. 

Tulok was thirty-four. He killed a man for the first time when he was twenty-six; a soldier in a raid. As soon as the body hit the snow, Tulok was sick, and he didn’t sleep for two weeks straight afterwards. If he couldn’t handle the war at twenty-six, how had that teenager felt? 

Terrified, was the simple answer. There was no joy, no honour, and that soldier would have realised that the moment he stared death in the face. He would have died alone and scared and _because of Tulok_. 

“Spirits.” Tulok raked a hand through his hair. His heart felt like it had slipped to land messily amongst his ribs, pathetically trying to beat around some bone-deep obstruction. Tulok had killed a child. But there was something else, another chapter of the story. Tulok had killed a child, but how had he been able to in the first place? Who made it so it was okay for a seventeen-year-old to stand on that deck that day? Who looked that poor boy in the eye and told him he needed to die for his nation? Who was supposed to watch over him? Who failed? 

“We killed that boy.” Tulok whispered, because he knew the answer to his question lay in the burning gaze of Prince Zuko. 

The Prince flinched upon Tulok’s words, eyes widening, lips parting, before slowly, he sat in the snow beside Tulok. 

____ 

_“It wasn’t your fault.”_ Said by Tomkin and Nanook, to comfort him. 

_"Your job is to protect the many, and you did that.”_ Said by Hakoda, to comfort him. 

_“We’re at war, which means people are going to die.”_ Said by Kanut, to comfort him. 

_“Killing you would probably save lives.”_ Said by Chena, to comfort himself. 

_“They were Fire Nation.”_ Said by Aput, to comfort himself. 

But now, Zuko was looking at Tulok, and Tulok wasn’t trying to comfort either of them. Tulok wasn’t tiptoeing around Zuko’s feelings or gritting out denial for the sake of his own. And the other warriors had made good points, but they spoke from a tone of acceptance, like any of this was okay, like simply acknowledging that this was a war was _good enough_. It wasn’t good enough. It took Tulok’s heartbroken _‘we killed that boy’_ for Zuko to realise that he was absolutely enraged. He was enraged and he didn’t want to be comforted, not about this. He wanted Lee to be at peace, and he wanted something to be done, and he wanted someone to fucking acknowledge that Lee existed and fought and died for his nation, and he wanted this to never, ever happen again. 

_That_ was what Zuko wanted, not empty reassurances. 

“It’s not fair.” Zuko managed to choke out. 

“That’s just an excuse.” Tulok said, and he sounded exhausted. Tulok had a way of talking, a calmness, that meant he could say these devastating things without it coming across as personal or insulting. He was simply stating facts. 

“How?” Zuko asked, turning to the warrior he was now sat beside. 

“We do these horrific things, and we justify it by telling ourselves it’s not fair.” Tulok explained. “That’s what I’ve been doing, since killing your soldier. I tell myself that I did something awful, and that it’s not fair, that the world is cruel. In doing that, I've blamed the world and the war and everyone else, but at the end of the day, I still killed your soldier, and I've done nothing since to try and accept it, to try and make things fair.” 

Zuko listened, mesmerised, because Tulok was right. His entire life, Zuko had complained about the unjustness of the world, but what had he done to try and fix things? It was different for Tulok. Tulok was a single Water Tribe warrior. All him and his tribe could do was attempt to dent the Fire Nation’s superior military, attempt to win a war that had waged for a hundred years. That was the only way Tulok could make the world fair. But Zuko was a Prince. He was the heir to the throne, the Fire Lord’s son. What had he done to try and stop all of this bloodshed? Nothing. He'd done nothing, because his entire life, he thought the war was good. He came to the South Pole and saw that wasn’t entirely true. And now, he was realising with blinding luminosity that no aspect of the war was good. It hurt Tulok of the Water Tribe as much as it hurt Lee of the Fire Nation. 

The Fire Nation were killing themselves in their desperation for power and glory. 

Once, Zuko had spoken out in a war meeting. Once. That was his contribution. He toed his father’s lines and was branded for it, and he gave up immediately, accepting his punishment and falling back in place. Now, Zuko realised he never should have stopped fighting. Making Father proud had been Zuko’s priority for years, but Zuko understood now that his own selfish desires were inferior to the good of his nation. Because it was _his_ nation. Banished or not, Zuko was the Fire Prince, and he loved his people with every flame he possessed. Telling himself this was the price of war, that life was simply unfair, that there was no more he could do, were justifications that simply wouldn’t cut it anymore. 

If he wanted something to be done, he would do it himself. If he wanted someone to acknowledge Lee existed and fought and died for his nation, then Zuko would say his name. If he wanted this to never, ever happen again, then Zuko would do his bit in the fight for harmony. 

And if Zuko wanted Lee to be at peace, then he would give the boy a proper fucking burial. 

____ 

Tulok made a short argument for a sea burial. In the South Pole, the ground was too solid for dead to be buried, so the Southern Water Tribe let their deceased drift off to sea. The idea always seemed so peaceful to Tulok; allowing one's body to be reclaimed by La. But Zuko’s soldier, Lee, wasn’t Water Tribe, so Tulok didn’t push the argument too much. 

“We haven’t... I mean, how do we...” Tulok trailed off. They’d come to an agreement and separated to gather some objects, before reconvening at the village’s entrance. No one stopped them when they left, and they were now stood before the ruin of a Fire Navy ship. Every villager knew of its existence here, just a mile from the village, its hull almost upturned by the now frozen rage of a waterbender. Even like this, abandoned and skeletal, this ship was dangerous, and it was common knowledge that the villager’s avoided ever going near it, for fear of traps. It had been deserted for years, but it was the only Fire Nation item in the south, so Tulok suggested they do Lee’s memorial here. 

Or at least, the ship _had_ been deserted for years. Now, Tulok could just make out footprints in the snow around it, footprints that were small enough to make his stomach turn. 

“Zuko,” Tulok tried again, and the Prince’s first name sounded strange without its title, “we don’t have a body.” 

Lee had sunk with the Fire Nation ship that day, never to be recovered. Deserted, just like this. How could they do a memorial without a body? But Zuko had seemed so determined when he told Tulok the things he’d need, and even now, as the teenager shuddered in his furs, Zuko’s gaze was relentlessly fixed on the faded Fire Nation insignia fluttering lazily on its flag before them. 

“In the Fire Nation,” Zuko spoke quietly, voice a rasp, “we wash our dead in a bathing ceremony, before tying white string to their hands and ankles to guide them in the afterlife. Then we cremate them.” 

Zuko turned to Tulok. “We can’t really do that, but we can leave _something_ behind. Something permanent.” 

Tulok nodded, slowly understanding. “In the Water Tribe, we sometimes leave rock piles. It's something that’ll last, and it weathers the snow. Any villagers that come across it will respect it and leave it untouched.” 

Zuko considered this suggestion, before turning to look around them. Tulok didn’t wait for the Prince’s confirmation, and they both set off. They worked wordlessly, scanning the nearby area for any rocks they could find, placing them in a gradually growing pile just shy of the ship’s stern. They kept the pile small, like Lee had been, but Tulok packed the rocks in as securely as he could, him and Zuko finally stepping back when they’d gathered enough. 

“I need something to burn.” Zuko said after a few seconds of silence. “Lee was a firebender. He should have something of it with him.” 

Tulok didn’t need any more explanation and quickly tore off a strip of his undershirt, placing it amongst the rocks. When Zuko raised his hand, his fingers trembled slightly, and suddenly, Tulok was watching the fabric burn before him, turning to ash. Tulok's flinch was instinctive, yet he’d never seen a flame look so... soft. He almost wanted to reach out and touch it as it slowly burned out. The fire was never meant to last, but Tulok could understand the comfort of ashes for a firebender. 

Zuko breathed out shakily, swallowing before speaking. “Did you get something?” 

Before they’d left the village, Zuko had asked Tulok to bring an object that meant something, that was relevant to Lee, to leave with the fallen soldier. It hadn’t been a hard decision, and now as he grasped his boomerang, Tulok felt his familiarity with the weapon. He could get a new one. This one still had the ghost of Lee’s skin on its blade, had traces of Tulok’s own sweat from that battle. He couldn’t use it again, not now he knew what he did. 

Tulok let out a quiet prayer to the Spirits as he placed down his boomerang. 

Now, it was Zuko’s turn. 

____ 

Zuko had thought hard about what object to bring, but ultimately, it seemed there had only ever been one option. 

His ribbon. 

His ribbon, the same red as Lee’s blood. His ribbon, that he wore in the meeting where he took his first and only stand, fighting for the soldiers like Lee. His ribbon, that smelt and felt like anguish. His ribbon, that had stayed with Zuko in that Agni Kai. This ribbon was Zuko, when Zuko was just a passive little boy eager to please his father. Zuko was giving his ribbon to Lee, and he was leaving it behind in the South Pole. Zuko's priority was to his people now, was to making sure Lee wasn’t forgotten. Because Lee was here and he mattered. He mattered. 

And there were a million Lees, some already gone but most still alive with their families and dreams. They mattered. Zuko would make them matter. No more cannon fodder. No more fresh meat. No more excuses. 

With a prayer to Agni, Zuko placed his ribbon above Tulok’s boomerang, blue bleeding into red and red staining the blue, no longer in combat but in alliance. 

Here, finally, Lee was laid to rest. 

____ 

Tulok didn’t know how long they stood like that, staring down at Lee’s memorial. 

A sense of relief overcame Tulok. He’d spent countless nights wondering if he’d damned the people he’d killed. Now, he knew at least this poor boy had been granted solace. Tulok had spent so long doing nothing, accepting the blood on his hands. He knew he had no choice but to fight. His cause was the safety of his family. His cause was for Juatan to have a future that didn’t see him leaving to fight at sixteen. His cause was peace. He believed in his cause. He was willing to die for it and, if it was necessary, he was willing to kill for it. But now, Tulok knew he had to be more than that. He had to understand that the soldiers he fought were innocent in their own way. He had to forgive them, in order to forgive himself. 

For Tulok, his greatest defiance against this war was his absolution. 

“You know, Zuko,” Tulok finally broke the silence, knocking his shoulder against Zuko’s gently, “you’re not so bad.” 

Zuko cracked a small smile. “You’re not so bad either.” 

Eventually, the pair walked home. Tulok untied his hair and wordlessly offered Zuko his blue ribbon. The Prince nodded in gratitude and pulled his hair back up. They returned as evening approached, meaning most of the villagers were starting to gather around the campfire. Tulok went to sit with Chena and Aput, and Zuko was immediately snatched away by Tomkin and Nanook to sit with them. The conversation of a dozen villagers separated them, but every so often, golden eyes would catch with blue, and Tulok felt a bone-deep understanding. 

Things were different now. 

Tulok’s sister was sat nearby, her baby daughter cradled carefully in her arms. Miki was almost two, almost a toddler, but Tulok’s sister still coddled her like a newborn. It didn’t help that Miki was so small, hence her name. The elders had been concerned when she was born, and even now, Tulok and his sister both worried over how Miki would fare through the winters. 

“I thought you put her down hours ago.” Tulok said with a nod at Miki. 

“She won’t sleep.” Tulok’s sister rolled her eyes, her dark hair falling into her face. She looked exhausted, which was why Tulok soon found himself pushing her off to her tent, holding Miki himself with the promise he’d take care of her while his sister got some well needed rest. 

“She's a cute little thing, ain’t she?” Chena mused quietly from beside Tulok. As big and scary as the other warriors could be, all of the adults seemed to have gravitated to Miki’s incoherent babbling. Even Kanut, who had been talking seriously with Hakoda, kept flicking his eyes over, despite his insistence that he despised children. 

“You want to hold her?” Tulok asked, carefully handing Miki over before Chena could panic and say no. For all his bigness, Chena held Miki like she was the most precious thing in the world, and the baby smiled happily up at him. Tulok remembered the rages Chena went through after losing his daughter. It had been up to Aput and Tulok, Chena’s closest friends, to hold their fellow warrior back, but words had always failed them. Miki was barely a toddler, and she was still older than Chena’s little one when she’d been snatched from him. It had been illness that took her, but everyone knew Chena’s blame lay with the Fire Nation. 

“Look at that,” Aput grinned wolfishly, “you look like the perfect mother. And you said _Zuko_ was the arnaq.” 

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself, Aput." Chena returned with an easy-going snicker, but his grey eyes never looked away from Miki. “You and the Prince on a first name basis now?” 

Aput’s grin fell into a frown, making Chena’s famous, rumbling laugh erupt from him, quickly silencing when he accidentally stirred Miki. 

“He’s a good kid, you know.” Tulok said, and Chena groaned. 

“Not you too.” 

“Says the man who apologised, right Chena?” Kanut asked, shameless in his eavesdropping. Tulok didn’t know what he was referencing, but it was apparent that Chena did when he tensed up. 

“Um... yeah... of course.” Chena nodded firmly, and Kanut shook his head with a smile. 

“Come on, Chena,” Tulok nudged his friend, “if the kid can make Kanut’s barren heart feel things, then he can’t be too bad.” 

Kanut threw some snow at Tulok. “You don’t know shit about my barren heart, thank you.” 

Tulok laughed. He felt weightless for the first time in weeks. 

“This mean you’re all going to cry and have a farewell party when we give the kid to Fong?” Chena asked, handing Miki to Aput, who cooed down at the baby. 

Kanut's smile fell, his gaze shifting to Hakoda. 

“He’s not going to Fong.” The Chief said, and he used that tone. It was casual, but it was stern. It was the tone he used when he didn’t want to make a big deal of something, despite having spent hours debating it. Tulok suddenly understood why Hakoda had been talking with Kanna so long today. 

“Chief, you can’t be serious-.” 

“If I thought he was a threat to us, you know I'd never consider it.” Hakoda said, cutting off Chena’s fury. “But he’s just a child, and he needs us, whether he’ll swallow his pride to realise it or not. I won’t abandon him like the Fire Nation did.” 

Tulok had always admired Hakoda, even before he became Chief, and now, that admiration burned in Tulok’s veins. He'd never been prouder of his leader, and he nodded firmly to show his agreement with Hakoda. This morning, he would have hesitantly waited to see how Chena and Aput reacted, but now, he’d seen a new side of the Fire Prince. He'd seen _Zuko_. 

Hakoda looked to each of the nearby warriors in turn. He returned Tulok’s nod, and Kanut rolled his eyes, because they all knew he’d die for the kid at this rate. Chena looked furious, turning to Aput and waiting for his friend to back him up. Aput hesitated, narrowing his eyes on the oblivious Prince sat opposite the campfire. Wordlessly, Aput passed Miki to Hakoda, who took her in his arms with the practise of a father. That was enough. 

“Spirits, we’re all doomed.” Chena grumbled, downing the rum in his goblet, but he didn’t argue further. 

____ 

Zuko was sandwiched between Tomkin and Nanook before the campfire, just like last night. If they hadn’t hounded him all day, he might have been sick with the turmoil within him. But they had hounded him, and Zuko was starting to feel normal in their company again, and whenever he didn’t, he’d catch Tulok’s eye and remember Lee’s memorial. That memorial would always be there now. Through storms and death and hardship, Lee would always have a place. That felt more important than whether Tomkin was going to lash out or not, especially when, deep down, Zuko had always known he wouldn’t. 

“How’s your arm?” Zuko asked Tomkin, and the other boy narrowed his eyes. Zuko had spent all day avoiding him and the topic of last night, and now he was directly asking about it; Tomkin had every right to be surprised. 

“Still fine.” Tomkin insisted, waving his arm as proof. 

“Oh, not a wounded cripple anymore, then?" Nanook asked bitterly, and Zuko let himself chuckle when Tomkin – in his infinite maturity – stuck out his tongue. 

Zuko sat and listened to the two boys bickering for a few minutes, and he felt... calm. Surrounded by Water Tribe warriors with a fire before him, Zuko felt perfectly calm. It seemed dichotomous, yet here he was. He had barely noticed the bundle of furs being slowly passed around until Kanut quickly handed it onto Nanook with a grumbled ‘ _ew Tulok I don’t want your snotty baby_ ,’ and suddenly, Zuko was able to see the baby lying peacefully amongst the furs. 

Nanook held the child nervously, just a little too rigidly as he rocked his arms, and Tomkin, lover of kids everywhere, was practically on Zuko’s lap in his eagerness to see the baby. 

“This is Miki, Tulok’s niece." Nanook explained when he saw Zuko staring. Zuko flicked his gaze up and, sure enough, Tulok was watching him, a ghost of a smile on his face, expression trusting. 

The baby, Miki, had the widest blue eyes Zuko had ever seen, and her brown skin was utterly without fault. She waved her hands around, grasping anything she could find – including the bead in Nanook’s hair that she tugged with a surprising amount of strength, much to his chagrin - and she was so impossibly tiny, so fragile, so innocent. Zuko supposed that was the thing about babies; they were the definition of innocence, of new beginnings. Zuko had been this age when Father wanted him cast over the palace walls... 

Zuko shook his head of the thought. Just because Zuko had checked his priorities, that didn’t mean he would start blindly believing all those lies Hakoda told him. Zuko’s father did love him, and it was Zuko’s fault he was so disappointed. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Nanook asked, and Zuko’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t difficult to sense Kanna’s glare, her hatred practically oozing from where she sat across the fire. 

Zuko swallowed. “No, thank you." 

Nanook shrugged but didn’t push it. Miki's tiny hand kept searching for new things to investigate. Zuko hadn’t realised how much he’d leaned against Nanook until Miki’s hand suddenly brushed his face. Her fingers were too small to even grab his chin, though she tried, and Zuko froze, not wanting to scare her away as she explored him. She brushed over his lips, his jaw, before her hand finally rested on his scar. 

Zuko half expected Miki to cry, but instead, she let out an adorable giggle, like she’d found something interesting. Zuko couldn’t stop the relieved grin that cracked across his face. 

Kanut had said that war meant death was inevitable. He said the only way to be able to live with that was to know your cause was good enough to die for. The reason Lee had haunted Zuko so much was because, deep down, Zuko had always known he hadn’t believed in his cause. He wasn’t going to settle for that anymore. He left his red ribbon behind. His helplessness died with Lee. Miki was the Water Tribe’s cause, this new life, this new generation. She was their hope and reason, the symbol of the community that was so sacred to them. It was something so simple, but then, most good causes were. 

Zuko's cause would be simple, too. He would protect those that he loved. His friends, and his people. Death was never okay, but for them, Zuko was willing to commit that crime. He would die for them and, if it was necessary, he would kill for them. 

But he would never forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tulok's my baby daddy siri what do you mean this tweet is inappropriate siri send the fucking tweet.


	13. i. The Great Rum Heist Of 99AG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over 2000 kudos. Over 500 bookmarks. Over 30,000 hits. I'm on the phone to God right now asking how he feels about the fact I have clearly replaced him – spoiler alert; he’s pissed. Genuinely i can’t get over that it feels insane and i don’t know why you all like this so much but THANK YOU. Now onto something you might hate me for: it’s time to change the upload schedule. Yes, you guessed it, your monkey-brained alcoholic of an author is now back in school. Imagine getting an actual education, could never be me. This means it’ll be a lot harder for me to bust out two chapters a week. Possible, but harder. And because i don’t want to grow resentment for this fic and start seeing it as a chore, I'd rather just post once a week and enjoy it, you know? So now, posts will be every Monday. Sorry. Love you. Don't hate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is a chapter I've been buzzing for since Tomkin first started bitching about the rum stash. Also we’re FINALLY getting into the Earth Kingdom plotline now the Water Tribe plotline is pretty cosy, and boy oh boy have I been waiting for this. Fong? Tovah? They're coming for our fire boy. I literally can’t wait to see how you guys are gonna react to some of the absolute SHIT that’s about to hit the fan. No one is allowed to send me hate mail. Am i making you nervous yet? Good. 
> 
> Have a fab day nerds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do xxx

_Dear General Fong,_

_I am upset to have to inform you that our previous agreement regarding the transfer of the Fire Prince is no longer obtainable. The Water Tribe ship we have been restraining him on was inadequate for such a task, and the Prince managed to escape. I have information regarding where he may be headed from things he has said and the direction of which he departed, and I am willing to offer this information, since we are again closely allied._

_Please write back to convey your interest,_

_Sincerely,_

_Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe_

General Fong read the letter, then read it again, before scrunching it up in his fist and cursing in anger. 

“That Spirits-damned Prince escaped." He fumed, and Colonel Tovah couldn’t help but perk up. Tuning out of Fong’s rages was almost a pastime for her as one of his primary advisors, but news of the heavily talked about Fire Prince piqued her interest immediately, especially after she’d personally supervised the deployment of several top Earth Kingdom soldiers with the intent to collect said Fire Prince. 

“Never trust the Water Tribe to do an Earth Kingdom job.” Fong snarled, kicking at the desk Tovah was sat before. They were both in the main hall; a cavernous space furnished only by this desk, sat upon a platform at the hall’s far end and covered by a single map, and now, a scrunched-up Water Tribe letter. The vast ceiling was held up by intricate pillars that soared far above Tovah’s head, concaving into arches in an epic feat of earthbending. 

“We underestimated Chief Hakoda.” Tovah commented with a quirk of her eyebrow, drumming her fingers against the desk as Fong paced. Fong was a middle-aged man with a long, brown beard that brushed his chest, face thin and sharp, eyes a determined green. He wore the juniper green armour of a general with pride and grit. 

“How so?” Fong asked, bewildered. “He lost the prisoner! And after asking for fair treatment, no less.” 

“ _I am willing to offer this information, since we are again closely allied._ ” Tovah quoted easily. She had always been quick, cunning. It was why her superiors posted her in this position. “Those were his words, yes? He's putting it formally, but he’s still coercing us into an alliance. He's smarter than we gave him credit for. He knows we won’t refuse his information, no matter what his price. We need that Prince, General.” 

Tovah spoke the truth; they did need the Prince. Her superiors made it clear to her that the Fire Prince was her primary focus as soon as communication between the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe began on the matter. Tovah had thought the task would be difficult given she knew next to nothing about the furtive Fire Nation royal – she didn’t even know what the boy _looked_ like, for Spirits sake – but General Fong trusted her implicitly, and information was surprisingly easy to come across. 

Fong nodded in agreement, quickly fetching some paper to respond to Chief Hakoda. He'd always been easy to manipulate. Men of temper often were. Tovah had said they needed the Prince; it wasn’t her fault General Fong assumed she was referring to him. 

____ 

The Ullaakut sailed with a familiar jumpiness, the sea around them blue and vast as the south’s ice got further and further away. It had been painful to leave the village, and Kanna’s hug had left Hakoda cold when she pulled back, but at least he hadn’t had to say goodbye to his children a second time. He didn’t think he could have stomached that. Instead, he bid his goodbyes, watching his men separate from their families, the dignified work of jaws the only tell-tale sign that the warriors, upon their first moment alone, would allow for tears. Hakoda watched the campfire smoke twirl towards the dark sky, the tents whistling against the wind, memorising the sound of snow crunching beneath his feet, and then ice cracking around where it had frozen to the Ullaakut as his home became a speck in the distance, buoyed onwards with the stories Kanna had spent every night telling him. Stories of how far Katara’s waterbending had come, how Sokka insisted on training the village children, how they bickered more and more but always sorted it out in the end, how much Katara looked like Kya, how Sokka’s hair had grown long enough to be pulled into a true warrior’s wolf tail. These were things Hakoda would keep locked inside, and on the nights he began to ache, he would remember them. It would be enough until he saw his children again. 

They'd been at sea only a few days when Tulok confirmed a storm was coming. It seemed typical. Storms could be devastating, but with a crew as hardened by the sea as the crew of the Ullaakut, it was business as usual. They knew what to do. 

"Hey Chief,” Nanook appeared suddenly at Hakoda’s side, stood at the bow of the ship, looking concerned, “we think we’ve found a leak in the hull, can you come check it out?” 

Hakoda sighed with a frown. Leaks were surprisingly not that big of a deal, unless they weren’t dealt with. It would take a lot of water to sink this ship, so as long as the leak was stemmed quickly and efficiently, it was never anything more than a nuisance. 

The leak was on the starboard side of the ship, and when Hakoda peered over the rail as Chena and Aput were already doing, he saw a small trail of bubbles breaking the sea’s surface. 

“It’s coming from the infirmary.” Aput commented, jerking his head in said direction. Hakoda hummed in agreement before following Nanook. Kanut seemed annoyed to say the least upon so much traffic in his infirmary. Nanook, Chena and Aput had clearly already been in, and some of the other crewmen were gathered in the corridor to inspect. Kanut, however, always the host, was reading a book and pointedly not helping. 

“Where is it?” Hakoda asked. 

“Right here.” Nanook said, pointing to a small hole in the wall just above the floor that someone had unsuccessfully tried to clog with a wad of fabric. Water was slowly oozing in. _Snow rats_ , Hakoda thought. The little critters had a habit of getting on the ship and eating their way through just about anything. 

If Hakoda had been paying closer attention, he might have wondered why exactly a snow rat would chew through the hull. If Hakoda had been paying closer attention, he might have noticed Nanook’s subtle hand gesture as soon as his back was turned. If Hakoda had been paying closer attention, he might have seen two teenage boys sneaking past the distracted crew, heading towards the ship’s hold. 

____ 

“This is a bad idea.” Zuko hissed, crouched in the shadows of the ship’s hold and on lookout for any crewmen that may have followed them down here. “A very bad, terrible, Agni-damned, horrendous idea. What if we get caught?” 

“Shut your mouth, have I ever failed you?” Tomkin asked, rooting through the supplies kept here with an evil grin on his face. 

Zuko thought of Tomkin stealing his swords, of Tomkin bumping into him and foiling his escape attempt, of Tomkin starving him out of obliviousness, of Tomkin burning Nanook’s shirts and dragging Zuko into it, and Zuko confidently said; “Yes.” 

Tomkin just scoffed, before exclaiming in victory. “Got it!” 

The other boy had found a boring looking wooden box at the back of the hold labelled ‘peanuts.’ 

“Why do you have an entire box for peanuts?" Zuko deadpanned. 

Tomkin threw him a frown over his shoulder. “You know these? They're those weird crunchy things. Absolutely vile. I had one and almost threw up, but the Earth Kingdom love them. Chena knows no one in their right mind would want to go through this. He's the only psychopath on the ship to like peanuts.” 

Zuko decided not to mention that he liked peanuts, still confused as to what was happening here, but his confusion became impressed appreciation – not that he’d ever let Chena know – when Tomkin opened the box to reveal a dozen bottles of rum. 

The plan was simple. 

Nanook, the distraction. Zuko, the guard. Tomkin, the man in the field. Tomkin had been planning to steal from Chena’s rum stash for months, but his plans were always foiled by Nanook’s logic. _‘Aput checks every other week; he’ll notice some is missing’, ‘how are we supposed to get into the hold without being noticed?’, ‘even if we get the rum, then what?’_. Their first night back on the Ullaakut, the three had been sat on deck. Zuko had been silent and staring at his hands, breathing a little shallow, when Tomkin began plotting again. He'd started talking loudly and Zuko couldn’t help but think he sounded like he was forcing a conversation, but his passion came through soon enough. Zuko had just been in Hakoda’s cabin. Hakoda's plan was simple, too. He'd said so much. _It doesn’t have to be complicated, Zuko. You can stay, or you can go. We'll be stopping at a few ports in the Earth Kingdom before Chameleon Bay. If you decide at one of these ports that you want to leave, then you just say the words, and we can call it quits and you can go and do what you want._ His blue eyes had been so steady, so heavy on Zuko’s skin. _You aren’t a prisoner anymore._

Of course, it was hard to stress over Hakoda’s words and their implications with Tomkin’s relentless chatter, and Zuko tuned in soon enough to hear Nanook’s complaints. 

“Replace it with water.” Zuko had said quietly, causing two pairs of blue eyes to snap to him. 

“What?” Tomkin said. 

“The rum. Take a small amount from each bottle and replace it with water. It won’t dilute it enough to be noticeable and it’ll mean no one will be able to see anything’s been taken.” Zuko said simply, not liking the evil curl to Tomkin’s lips that soon became a grin. 

“And getting into the hold?” Tomkin asked almost breathlessly, looking at Zuko like he’d found something game-changing. “How do we do that?” 

Zuko thought back to lessons on strategy, to scratchy paper telling past military movements. Three types of tactic; offensive, defensive, and deceptive. “A feint attack; a diversion. One of us sets up a distraction that gets the attention of the crew long enough for two of us to get into the hold.” 

Zuko didn’t know when this stopped being a stupid idea and started being an _us_ , but he liked the apprehensive fluttering his heart was doing. He remembered being a child in the palace, how one time him and Azula hid in a cupboard for hours on end waiting for the kitchen to empty before stealing handfuls of dumplings. They'd scrutinised the servant rotas for days beforehand, finding the exact time the shift changes saw the kitchen completely empty for a few momentous minutes. At the age of five and seven, it was the most incredible plot in the world. That night, they fell asleep in Zuko’s bed, side by side, Azula facing him with her eyes shut and cheeks still dusted with crumbs. She used to sleep in his bed a lot, until she didn’t. That night, the room smelt of dumplings and success, and Zuko felt unstoppable. Until he didn’t. 

Zuko had felt this excitement then, too. He couldn’t help but indulge in it, and soon he was answering every question Tomkin threw at him, swallowing a laugh when the other teenager jumped to his feet eagerly, shaking his head when even Nanook started to consider that perhaps this could work. The next thing Zuko knew, they’d planned it all out, and now here he was, on lookout in the hold as Tomkin carefully poured a few millilitres of rum from each of the bottles into a waterskin. 

Eventually, the entire waterskin was full, and the bottles still looked untouched when Tomkin slid the box shut again with a barely audible thud. The two boys shared a single look, the silence a dizzy hum of _almost_ , before sneaking back into the hallway. Upstairs, Nanook was stood outside the infirmary, and Tomkin gave a subtle wave when he caught his eye to signal they were done. Hakoda was just finished fixing the leak; oblivious. 

Which brought Zuko, Tomkin and Nanook together in the back of the berth deck, where all the warriors slept in neatly lined hammocks. Now, they were to tackle Nanook’s final question. _Even if we get the rum, then what?_

Tomkin had been able to answer that one himself, blue eyes flashing mischievously. 

They would simply drink it all before anyone saw. 

Zuko had never had rum before. He’d had wine, the flowing red of royal events, but never rum. It was seen as a peasant’s drink, and besides, he was hardly allowed to get drunk. It would be _indecorous_. 

But the Water Tribe’s version of decorous was very different to the Fire Nation’s, and Zuko hadn’t helped plan this all out just to watch Tomkin and Nanook drink away all their bounty. He deserved a little bit, right? Just a tiny sip... 

“Earth beats fire!” Tomkin cackled, hand extended before him in a fist. 

“Wait,” Zuko grumbled, quickly shifting his hand position from what was clearly supposed to be a flame to curve his fingers; a wave, “it wasn’t fire, it was water. Water beats earth. I win. You drink.” 

“Nope,” Tomkin grinned, popping the ‘p’ sound, “I know what I saw.” 

“It was water!” 

“Fire!" 

“Prove it!” 

“Nan?!” Tomkin turned to the third boy desperately, but Nanook was currently swinging in one of the hammocks, giggling quietly. He would be of no help. 

Zuko growled in frustration, admitting defeat, before his face split into a small smile. He took a swig of rum, the alcohol burning his throat. It warmed him the same way firebending did, but he didn’t feel any different yet... 

____ 

Nanook had a humiliatingly low tolerance for alcohol. Zuko and Tomkin were in the beginnings of their game of Elements, Tomkin gradually growing tipsy – which was always indicated by his increased sensitivity – and Zuko seeming surprisingly fine, though his pale skin was starting to flush. Yet here was Nanook, lying in a hammock and swearing the ship was spinning. Spirits, he was a lightweight. 

“I want food.” The words tumbled from Nanook’s mouth before he even realised he was thinking them, and he tipped sideways in the hammock, body pulling towards the galley. Unfortunately, it would seem his body was moving quicker than his mind, and he wound up falling directly onto Tomkin and Zuko in a pile of limbs and laughter. 

“Nan, you fat prick, get off." Tomkin hissed from beneath Nanook’s arm. 

“Who’s fucking _elbowing_ me?" Zuko’s words were muffled from his face being pressed to Nanook’s shoulder. 

“Food.” Was all Nanook offered, scrambling to his feet and careening out of the berth deck. From the floor, Tomkin and Zuko blinked in surprise, before grinning and following. 

____ 

The three of them poked their heads around the galley’s doorframe, in the order of Nanook, Zuko and Tomkin. Zuko always did seem to wind up between those two. Usually, he’d be able to create detailed spiels of just why that was annoying, but now, his mind felt foggy, a little like smoke, and the only thought he could conjure was that it was cosy. He was a Prince with a Prince’s vocabulary, and all he he could come up with was _cosy._

“Is Chop in there?” Nanook whispered, and Zuko squinted in an attempt to see the galley better. It was a small room, blisteringly hot even for a firebender, lined with stoves and counters and food that made Zuko’s mouth water. There was a small pantry in the back, for storage, and Zuko couldn’t tell if the clinking he could hear was coming from there or another part of the ship. He knew he needed to figure it out, though. The Ullaakut’s chef was a friend of Chena’s, which said just about everything Zuko had needed to know when he first met the man. His name was Silla, but everyone called him Chop due to his affinity for being able to cut just about anything with, well, just about anything. He was a huge man, a terrifying mix of fat from working as a chef and muscle from fighting as a warrior, with tattoos all up his arms. 

“Unclear,” Zuko said, and to his horror, he was starting to slur a little, “but there’s pickled fish on the counter.” 

“That settles it!” Tomkin called, because pickled fish was a favourite of his, and before the two others could grab him and bodily haul him back, he’d launched himself into the galley. 

This was around the time that Chop emerged from the pantry. 

“Oi! You little shits!” He roared, lunging as Tomkin grabbed the fish. 

“Run!” Tomkin screamed, and Zuko didn’t have to be told twice. 

Chop chased them to the deck, swearing and yelling, and sprinting made Zuko’s lungs burn, heart racing, but not because he thought something terrible would happen if they got caught. No, he was _laughing._

But Tomkin’s lack of coordination and Nanook’s lack of alcohol tolerance foiled him. The two Tribesman wound up tripping over one another just as they passed the mainmast, now in full view of the rest of the curious crew, and the three tumbled into a tangle of limbs for the second time today, pickled fish spilling everywhere. 

Zuko lifted his head, Tomkin’s legs thrown over his, his arm pinned beneath Nanook, and it was absolutely hilarious, and hearing Tomkin and Nanook laugh with him just made it funnier, and when Nanook _snorted_ , Zuko had to clutch his stomach. He never knew you could hurt from laughing. 

“What in the name of the Spirits is going on?” 

The three boys’ laughter choked off as they looked up blearily to see Hakoda towering over them, hands on his hips, expression stern. The hilarity of the situation evaporated from Zuko, leaving him indifferent. If he was sober, he’d be scared, but it was apparent that he was very much not sober. 

“They stole from me, that’s what.” Chop snarled, folding his tattooed arms over his apron. 

“Yeah, prove it, asshole.” Nanook smirked, words slipping together. 

“Are you three,” Hakoda narrowed his eyes in bewilderment, “ _drunk?_ ” 

Tomkin and Nanook looked between one another, each silently dogging the other into answering. The response, however, came from the most unlikely of the trio. 

“Would never dream of it.” Zuko said deftly, and Hakoda’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. 

“Oh yeah?” Hakoda asked, but now the side of his lips was trying not to quirk upwards. “Then explain this.” 

Zuko considered that a moment, aware of the nearby crewmen watching on in shocked amusement. “This,” Zuko eventually said, gesturing lazily, “is a very smart and convoluted espionage mission that I have hatched, for I am very smart and convoluted.” 

Here was the thing. Zuko never had been good at lying, but one time, he drank too much wine – it had been his first time to try it, now Mother was no longer there to supervise – and Uncle had said, guffawing with laughter, that Zuko had _a wicked streak of wit, buried beneath it all._ Zuko had understood immediately; Mother had berated him endlessly for sarcasm. It was only when once a sarcastic comment slipped out in front of Father that Zuko truly learnt to bite his tongue. Now, that side stayed hidden. 

It seemed alcohol changed things. 

“No.” Kanut said in horror from where he was leaning against the ship railing, his previous conversation with Aput and Chena interrupted by the young trio’s explosion onto the deck. “No, no, no. _Please_ tell me you aren’t dabbling with sarcasm now. Please, I can’t handle that. The angst and glaring was bad enough.” 

“This coming from Mr Straight-talk himself?” Chena asked, shaking his head. “You’re the motherfucker who’s probably taught him that. Now we’re all doomed.” 

“We’re still not discussing the fact that you three are _clearly_ drunk.” Hakoda said, watching Nanook pitifully try and get to his feet and almost stumble overboard in the process. 

Zuko let his head thunk against the deck, staring at the overcast sky. It was steel grey, all clouds and bad news, in the distance, black. The storm would hit soon, perhaps even sooner than Tulok predicted. 

“In our defence,” Zuko tried, “Aput only checks the rum every _other_ week.” 

Which, promptly, led to uproar. 

The slither of sunlight – which was slowly returning with every mile the Ullaakut crawled north - was starting to set by the time Hakoda had calmed Aput and Chena, whose response to finding out their precious stash had been breached ranged from fury to heartbreak, both of which were equally funny to Tomkin, who giggled endlessly like this was the greatest thing he’d ever watched. 

It took Hakoda’s steady tone as Chief – desperately trying not to smile as some of his strongest fighters acted like children – to shut Aput and Chena up, but it was Kanut who made them grin. He'd disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned, he returned with as many bottles in his hands as he could carry. 

“Well,” he said, “I don’t see why those three invalids should have all the fun.” 

Zuko was having a party with the Water Tribe warriors who, three weeks prior, kidnapped him and left him bedridden from a near-fatal wound. Today was around the time said Water Tribe warriors were supposed to hand Zuko over to a well-respected Earth Kingdom general; a cold business deal. But they hadn’t done that. Instead, they were having a party. With Zuko. Together. 

And Zuko was undeniably having fun. 

He laughed at Tomkin’s terrible puns, he dogged Kanut into a drinking game and lost, he helped Nanook stumble to a safe corner to pass out, he even tapped his foot to the drums someone had retrieved, watching with a grin as some of the crew danced like they had back in the South Pole. This wasn’t like parties in the Fire Nation, because there weren’t parties in the Fire Nation. There were gatherings, occupied by stiff old men without an essence of fun in their entire being. Zuko had thought that was normal, had thought masculinity was synonymous with apathy. Zuko had thought wrong. 

After a few hours, Zuko was exhausted, letting himself lean against the ship’s rail to stare out at the inky sea around him. It had never felt safe before, but now, he felt like he knew it. The ocean was an ally. A splatter of rain landed on Zuko’s forehead, just a tiny drop, and he revelled in it, his skin far too hot and his cheeks flushed from too much rum. 

“Sometimes,” Hakoda’s voice sounded suddenly, and the Chief leaned against the rail beside Zuko, face thoughtful, “I wonder how past me would react if he saw me now. I wonder, if I spoke to the man I was that day, the day we met, what would he say he if he saw me here? I think he’d laugh.” 

“I think he’d call you stupid.” Zuko said, but he couldn’t help but smile a little. Talking to Hakoda had never been easy, but they’d climbed so many walls together these past three weeks, and the alcohol made any last hesitations slowly become meaningless. _You aren’t a prisoner anymore._

“Hey, I'm not the guy who squared up to an entire crew of warriors _alone_.” Hakoda pointed out, and Zuko scoffed at his own idiocy. 

“I didn’t want to leave without my swords.” He admitted, like that was any excuse. 

Hakoda frowned. “Those dual ones Little Tom took?” 

Zuko nodded. He'd wanted so badly to retrieve them from Tomkin, tempted more than once to take them over these three weeks, but he’d stopped himself. He'd built up some form of trust on the Ullaakut, a trust that was solidified in the South Pole. He couldn’t throw that away, not even for his swords. For now, it was enough to know they were safe. 

Hakoda was looking at him funny. “You know, I met a swordsman in the Earth Kingdom once. He tried to sell me some swords like that. _The dual swords,_ he said, _are the most reckless and daring of all weapons, and when you hold them in your hands you should fear nothing_. I didn’t buy them because of that; I knew I didn’t have the skill for it.” 

Zuko flushed, and not because of the alcohol, but because he realised Hakoda was complimenting him. If it were anything else, Zuko would want to flat out contradict the Chief, but his swords had always been special. His swords were one thing Zuko had a good grip on, their handles as familiar to his calloused hands as his own fire. He couldn’t keep up with Azula with his bending, but his dual swords were his second chance to please Father. They were _his._

“I didn’t pick them for all that.” Zuko said quietly. 

“No?” 

He shook his head, fingers tracing his pai sho tile in his pocket; the only thing left. 

“The dual swords represent a person’s duality, how both good and bad run within all of us, two sides of one character, hero and villain. It shows how, for there to be harmony, these two forces have to work not with the absence of one another, but with the synchroneity of both. To use only one sword would mean to leave behind either your good half or bad half... it would be unnatural.” 

What Zuko didn’t say was that Uncle begged Zuko to leave his bad half, and Father demanded Zuko leave his good half. He didn’t say that he’d spent his entire life grappling with balance while everyone around him demanded he shed it. He didn’t say that, because Zuko wasn’t evil just as he wasn’t weak. Not anymore, at least. He was learning that. He was learning that he was only human, and for a human to be whole, there needed to be two halves. 

Hakoda still had that strange look on his face. If he were looking at anyone else, it might have been admiration. But Zuko was just Zuko. 

The rain was falling harder now, hard enough that the party was stopping in order for the crew to throw concerned looks at the sky. It didn’t take long for Tulok to spot Hakoda. 

“Chief!” He called, running over. He looked ashen. “The storm. It's worse than I thought. We need to get everyone below deck-.” 

He was cut off by a deafening explosion, a bolt of light so bright it blinded Zuko for a moment smacking into the sea just a few metres from the ship. Lightning. The three stared for a few seconds, the resounding thunder growling through Zuko’s bloodstream as his heart began to thump in his chest. 

“Everyone below deck now!” Hakoda roared to be heard over the rain, which was coming down faster with every second. The crew had prepared for a storm, had tied down and moved everything that required it. All that needed to be done now was for them to get themselves to safety and pray. 

Zuko had always felt things in extremes. He wasn’t cool like Azula or cold like Father. He felt things and he felt them in their entire inferno. He'd often heard that alcohol was supposed to exacerbate whatever you were feeling, but he’d also heard that it could equally numb your feelings, too. For a person with a mind as exhausted as Zuko’s, he seemed blessed with the latter effect, because even though his heart raced and vision narrowed, he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel scared. 

Not even as everyone around him raced below deck. Not even as he stood frozen, watching the sky wrench itself open in a push of sheer force. Not even as the lightning struck the mainmast and splintered through the wood like it was no more than a nuisance. 

“The mast!” Chena yelled, pausing just before he reached the safety of below deck. The rain had drenched him, brown hair sticking to his forehead, but he was unmoving against the storm. Of course he was; he was _Chena_. Zuko didn’t need to like him to respect the warrior’s brawn and sheer stubbornness. 

“Come on!” Tomkin urged, grabbing Zuko’s arm and dragging him. Hakoda and Chena were arguing, the Chief pulling at Chena the same way Tomkin pulled at Zuko, but the grey eyes of the big warrior had honed in like they did when they found a target, and his target was the mainmast. 

Zuko realised when no one else did – because no one else had been privy to such a glare – that Chena would not be dissuaded. 

“The mast’s gonna snap if someone doesn’t fucking get up there!” Chena was shouting, and as if to prove his point, the wooden beam of the mainmast groaned loudly, still smoking at the top from the lightning strike. The rain had quickly extinguished any fires, but the beam had still been weakened, a deep gash tearing through the top metre of it. It could be fixed quite easily simply by being lashed tightly. They were heading to Weihai anyway; aware of the oncoming storm and the possible damage they might face. So long as the mast lasted until then, it would be fine. 

But the mainmast was the highest point of the ship. No one in their right mind would climb up there right now. 

But if someone didn’t do something, the mast could break, and they’d all go down. 

Hakoda was distracted by the storm and the rest of his crew. For a moment, Zuko caught Chena’s eyes, their grey like the metal of war tanks as they flashed in the lightning. Zuko saw something in them, and realisation dawned on him like the cold rain that slipped down his back. He shook his head, _no_ , but Chena had made up his mind. 

The big warrior burst free, throwing Hakoda behind him so that the Chief almost fell down the stairs below deck. 

“Chena, don’t!” Hakoda cried in horror and, for the first time, terror. That was his crewman running into the danger, but it was also his friend. 

“Do your job! Keep them safe!” Chena called back, placing his foot to the first rung of the mainmast, before he allowed a small grin. “I’ll be right fucking back.” 

Tomkin was still desperately pulling Zuko, a little hysterical now, but Zuko was refusing to move. Chena wouldn’t be back. He wouldn’t be back because Zuko could feel what no one else could. The lightning. It breathed and toiled like a human heart, and it beat within Zuko’s chest with enough force to bruise. He knew when it was coming next. A few minutes. He knew where it would hit. The mainmast was the highest point of the ship. 

Zuko had no weapons but a calmness stemming from inebriation and faint memories of Uncle that day on the Erlong. He would make it enough. Chena was a stubborn piece of shit, and he didn’t get to just _die._

“Sorry.” Zuko said, looking apologetically to Tomkin. Before the other boy could ask, Zuko shoved him below deck, and was running before Hakoda’s arms could swoop around him to haul him back. 

“The fuck, kid?” Chena snarled when Zuko clambered onto the crow’s nest with him, every rung of the ladder he’d just climbed slippery beneath his grip. Everything was a blur up here aside Chena, who lashed the mast tight enough for splinters to fall loose. 

“You’re about to get hit by lightning, you colossal idiot." Zuko growled in response. 

“You can tell? _How_ can you tell? Hey, shit for brains, are you even listening? You need to get the fuck down. You'll get yourself killed. I'm talking to you-.” 

And then the sky broke in half, white slashing through black clouds like a blade, and Zuko saw how Uncle had breathed in deep, moving his arms like so, and thank Agni for the rum because the spear of white hot power was headed directly at Zuko, and if he didn’t catch it, Chena would die, and they would all die, and once upon a time, sinking this ship had been something he’d wished he was strong enough to do. Now, he was strong enough to stop it. 

The lightning felt like having his face burned off, except now, it was in every nerve of his body. His muscles seized and spasmed, his teeth grinding into one another to keep from screaming, and everything began to slip as it all became pain, to the point Zuko wondered if he’d ever felt anything else. Focussing on his movements, on controlling this wild beast, was something Zuko still didn’t understand how he’d managed, but he had. He mimicked what Uncle had done, he remembered what he read in Kanut’s book, he prayed, he tried not to scream, and suddenly, all of the pain and power was shooting out of his fingertips, back out to the sky, leaving him panting and electrified and practically vibrating, every hair on his body stood up, but alive, for all that. 

“What the actual fuck?” Chena whispered, the quiet words catching on the wind. 

Through a hoarse throat, Zuko said; “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If getting wankered then redirecting lightning in an honourable self-sacrifice isn’t the epitome of adolescence, then idk what is. Catch me and the girls doing exactly this next weekend. They think I'm dabbing but really I'm just redirecting lightning like Uncle Iroh taught me


	14. i. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless little quote from one Heinz Doofenshmirtz to start this chappie off. What will you do about it. Also okay gang I may or may not have made a tumblr. Yes i did. No i didn’t. Prove it. I've never used tumblr before though and have made this solely because a few of u requested it in order to send art (which is MAD). I'm not expecting this to become like a blog or anything (though I'm not opposed to that ;) ) I'm just gonna see how it goes and probably post every embarrassing anecdote that occurs in my daily life, naturally. Idk follow me I guess is that how tumblr works. Please give me tumblr tips in the comments. I'm inept. Here we go: [hella1975](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hella1975)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes I'm in orbit I just realised that after this chapter, there’s only like 4 or 5 chapters left of part 1 of this fic. WHAT. When did that even happen I-. Like next chapter is the last normal chapter. Everything after that is a shitshow. Do you mind telling me in the comments something. Baso this fic is going to be in 2 parts which I'll explain better in a few chapters time, and I was wondering if you guys would rather I made this into a series and posted part 2 as a separate work, or just keep it all in one place here and just separate them. Because i wanted to just separate them because it’s easier, but if you guys would rather then I obvs will just make it a series. did that make any sense at all? No? okay that really sounds like a you problem but go off i guess.
> 
> Bitches we have more art! It's literally incredible i can't get over it. [Here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725064308/), [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1big6L067wR-Io7usA4Yuy674a9tzOtds/view), [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725316950/), andddd [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725423929/). I literally love all of these tysm to the artists for giving me a will to live <333
> 
> alright you little shits have a lovely day and don't do anything i wouldn't do xx

If Zuko had one gold piece for every time he woke up in the Ullaakut’s infirmary with no memory of getting there, he would have two gold pieces, which wasn’t much, but still two more than he ought to have. The first time, Zuko had woken up feeling terrified and confused. This time, he groaned in annoyance. 

“Rise and shine, Princess.” Kanut said from where he was sat on his bunk, arms crossed, expression unrelenting. Zuko considered going back to sleep, but Kanut’s stare told him an explanation was required, and fast. 

So, Zuko tried to sit up, and promptly said; “Ow.” 

Kanut’s eyes widened, knowing that could only mean Zuko was in agony. He got to his feet, quickly making tea like Zuko had seen him do a hundred times. As usual, he scorched the tea leaves, but Zuko was in no position to complain, because his entire body felt like it had been scooped empty with a sharp object that had hacked at his soft flesh, now stinging with every breath. 

“So, lightning, huh?” Kanut said, watching as Zuko took a careful sip, refusing to wince as the tea slid through him, warmth easing over his aching body. 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“Please, shut up.” 

“What happened?” Zuko finally dared to ask. Was Hakoda angry? Firebending on the Ullaakut had been very specifically forbidden, and the last time Zuko firebended he burnt Tomkin and proceeded to break down in the Chief’s arms, but was lightning redirection considered firebending? And how did Zuko even feel about the fact he wasn’t dead? He'd never done that before, yet it worked. He wasn’t used to his ridiculous plans working. If it worked, that meant Chena-. 

“You played catch with a storm and passed out. Chena had to catch you. It was very romantic. Thanks to you, he fixed up the mast enough. We're in port at Weihai. Your arrogant motherfucking ass has been out cold for an entire day.” 

_An entire day_. Zuko... had had worse. He felt unsettled by the passing of time, by his inability to account for this past day nor the journey from that ambiguous stretch of stormy sea to Weihai, but Kanut’s gaze was calm, surly, if anything. If something bad had happened, Kanut would say. 

“I guess I lost no-longer-a-prisoner privileges." Zuko commented dryly, head aching every time he tried to move. 

Kanut didn’t smile. "That’s not how this works, tough guy." 

“But I firebended-.” 

“You really are a stubborn dumbass, you know that?” Kanut said, and Zuko frowned. 

“What do you mean?" Zuko asked. 

Kanut just sighed like Zuko was being particularly dense, rubbing his temples. He hadn’t touched his tea. “Hakoda wants to see you in his cabin.” 

Oh. This was familiar. Zuko felt suddenly like he was waking up on the Ullaakut for the first time. Strange men with strange names and strange customs, each wanting him killed in their own personal way. But that was ridiculous, and Zuko forced himself to swallow that phantom fear. These men weren’t strange; they were the Southern Water Tribe warriors. He knew their names and how they sounded from each person. He knew their customs and their spirituality and depth. He... trusted them 

Zuko got to his feet a little uneasily, but the pain was starting to eb. With dawning shock, Zuko realised Kanut had put something in his tea. For the pain, though the danger was still there. What if it hadn’t been a simple painkiller? And with that thought in mind, why was Zuko’s only instinct to swallow a smirk? 

Just before he left, Zuko thought to ask, turning to Kanut; “Is the crew okay?” 

He meant the storm. Kanut knew that. That didn’t change his answer. “We’re all a bit jaded at the realisation that you’re powerful enough to have killed us very easily these past three weeks. We got lucky.” 

Something deep within Zuko toiled at that, uncomfortable under Kanut’s heavy eyes. He hadn’t had to say something like this in weeks. He didn’t like the possibility that he was back to this. 

“It’s not luck. I’m not just going to kill people for the sake of it.” _And I'm not that powerful_ , he left unsaid. Kanut was looking at him so strangely. Just as Zuko left the infirmary, Kanut spoke again, quietly. 

“That’s not what I meant." The healer murmured, staring at his hands. 

____ 

That wasn’t what Kanut meant at all. 

Kanut remembered watching in horror, barely being held back by Aput, as Zuko dashed up the mainmast. Kanut remembered his furious yells being snatched away by the storm, silenced. Kanut remembered being helpless as the lightning escaped the sky, hitting Zuko’s small, stubborn body. He'd thought in that moment; _he isn’t going to make it_. He had never thought that before. Not when Zuko was taken to his infirmary with a lacerated back. Not when Zuko firebended on the deck in front of a dozen men raised to respond to fire with blood. Not when Hakoda told him of what happened on the bowsprit when Zuko came millimetres from plunging into the ocean. Not when Zuko was brought to the South Pole and burned Tomkin. 

Even when everything was against Zuko, Kanut had never considered he wouldn’t make it. There was a stubborn toughness in the kid, a grit, a strength, a desire to keep going. Resilient. His upbringing had made him so. Soft skin can only heal soft so many times; Kanut knew it hardened sooner or later. 

So when he looked at this teenage boy, this epitome of survival, this palimpsest of Kanut’s own self, and realised that he genuinely didn’t know how Zuko would get out of it this time, Kanut felt everything in him shut down in pure terror. 

But he should’ve known better. Zuko wouldn’t be beat so easily, least of all by one small storm. He was one of the strongest, bravest people Kanut knew. That was what he meant when he said the crew were lucky. 

Lucky, not because Zuko chose not to kill them when it was now apparent he could have done. 

Lucky, because they found Zuko, and he saved them. 

Lucky, because if they picked any other soldier from that ship that day, they could be dead a hundred times over by now. 

Lucky, because Zuko was _good_. 

____ 

Hakoda looked up in surprise when Zuko entered his cabin, head previously craned over a spread of letters before him. 

“Kanut told me you wanted to see me?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but Hakoda looked genuinely confused, concerned, by Zuko’s presence in his cabin. He must have heard Zuko’s sheepishness, because he allowed a small smile. Not _very_ annoyed, then. 

“I told him to come get me. You shouldn’t be walking about." Hakoda explained, and now it was Zuko’s turn to frown. He'd effectively just been kicked out of the infirmary and he hadn’t even realised. 

“Why would he-?” 

“You scared him. Kanut isn’t great at having emotions forced on him, but you really scared him. Can't have the great Sea Serpent of the South losing his nephew now, can we?” Hakoda smiled, trying to stay casual despite the deep anxiety in his eyes as he quickly looked Zuko over, as if searching for wounds. Zuko scowled instinctively at the now very old, very unfunny joke regarding Kanut, swallowing the phantom smell of jasmine tea and brushing his fingertips against his pai sho tile. But then, Zuko flushed a little at the prospect of Kanut, _Kanut_ , scared for him as he lay unconscious. 

“How do you feel?” Hakoda asked. 

“Like I got hit by lightning.” Zuko said, and Hakoda released a surprised chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Fair enough." He nodded. 

Zuko couldn’t take it anymore. 

“If you’re annoyed, I’m sorry. I know you said no firebending, and you didn’t know I could do that, but I don’t know if it’s even strictly considered firebending, and I didn’t know I could do it either, so-.” 

Hakoda held up a hand and Zuko silenced. The Chief’s lips were parted in shock, eyes wide, and Zuko quickly tried to figure out what he must have said to concern the man so much, but couldn’t think of anything. 

“Zuko, I..." Hakoda cut himself off, eyebrows pulling together. “I’m not annoyed. At all. Even if it had been typical firebending, doing what you did saved the lives of the entire crew. I... _of course_ I'm not annoyed. I wanted to talk to you _to thank you_. And-… did you just say you didn’t know you could do that? As in, you weren’t sure you’d survive it?” 

Zuko swallowed, unable to help the way his shoulders slumped in relief upon the words _’I’m not annoyed_ ’. That still didn’t explain why Hakoda was looking at him like that. 

“It’s not a formal technique. I’m pretty sure my uncle invented it; I saw him do it on the Erlong, in a similar storm. I thought it was worth a shot?” Zuko said, the end of his sentence trailing up in pitch, an accidental question, because Hakoda’s gaze was relentless, like Zuko’s words were consistently missing the mark. 

They were quiet for some time, Zuko anxiously trying not to stir beneath the Chief’s stare. Finally, Hakoda blinked. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda said steadily, “exactly how good a firebender are you?” 

That wasn’t the question Zuko expected, and he frowned in confused surprise. Zuko knew in his very bones how good a firebender he was; in that, he wasn’t. He was subpar, unable to keep up with his _little sister_ , for Agni’s sake. Father had reminded him at every junction, Mother told him not to worry, Uncle desperately tried to train him but Zuko could never achieve what he wanted. Zuko was a long line of adequate, which would be fine, if he weren’t the Crown Prince. 

“I’m not considered very good amongst the family.” Zuko said sheepishly, and he hated himself. He wanted to impress Hakoda. It was different to the way Zuko wanted to impress Father. He wanted to impress Father because it was the only way he knew that made his father actually show a semblance of affection, and he craved that. But he wanted to impress Hakoda because he respected him, and he ached at the prospect of that respect being echoed, even a little. But that wouldn’t happen, because Zuko was going to have to explain, in detail, just how shit he was, as if it weren’t blindingly obvious. 

“Your family only has three living members, yes?” Hakoda asked bluntly, and Zuko nodded. 

“And you’re the worst firebender of the three?” 

Zuko’s nod was firmer, quicker, confirming a fact he’d had drilled into him since infancy. 

“And the royal family are the best firebenders in the entire nation, I gather?” Hakoda asked, and this time, Zuko hesitated, because that wasn’t where he thought this conversation was going. 

“Well... yes, but... but that’s..." 

“So, you’re the fourth best firebender in the entire Fire Nation.” Hakoda summarised. Zuko's mouth felt dry. “That is your definition of ‘not very good’.” 

Zuko just stared. He’d never thought of it like that. _Fourth best firebender in the entire Fire Nation._ The words made his stomach stumble within him like it had when he was drunk. His entire life, he’d only ever seen the people around him, his family. He only ever saw Azula, her ruthless skill, her inimitable ability to achieve, achieve, achieve. Relentless. He could never even hope to keep up. He took that fact and let it choke him, but Hakoda was now loosening the noose. It still hung around Zuko’s neck, but it was limp, and he could breathe. _Fourth best firebender in the entire Fire Nation._

“Thank you.” Zuko whispered, and two words didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t know what else to say, but he wasn’t just thanking Hakoda for the compliment. He was thanking him for a thousand things. Thank you for not killing me when you could have, should have. Thank you for choosing to hug me instead of hit me. Thank you for listening and understanding. Thank you for giving me the choice to leave. Thank you for giving me the choice to stay. Thank you for this. Thank you for everything. 

Hakoda must have understood the complex intent behind Zuko’s simple response, because he smiled a wide, happy smile. 

“I ought to thank you, too.” Hakoda said earnestly, and Zuko’s stomach dipped. “You saved my life and the lives of our crew. You showed bravery and honour without hesitation.” 

Zuko came in here with an apology on his lips and was instead hearing commendation ringing through his mind. He felt childishly warm, almost giddy. _Honour_. Hakoda thought he was honourable. His heart thundered louder than the storm. He had said _our_ crew. 

Hakoda was watching him with a mysterious contentment in his blue eyes, before he seemed to blink himself back to reality. 

“Last night’s storm tired itself out not long after you collapsed. We made port at Weihai this morning.” Hakoda said with a tired sigh. “We’re just here for supplies and to fix the mast properly. I don’t want to stay too long. Would you mind staying on the ship? Fong ought to have called back his soldiers from the rendezvous by now, but I don’t want to take any chances.” 

Zuko nodded in grim understanding. The threat of the Earth Kingdom, his near miss, Hakoda’s mercy, still made his fingers tremble. _These guys don’t mess about. You've had it very easy here, and you need to understand that. If you misspeak, misbehave, or so much as look at them wrong, then they won’t hesitate to break you._ Zuko wasn’t the Fire Prince anymore to these warriors, but to the Earth Kingdom, who were so much more embroiled in this war than the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko would be nothing more than a bartering tool. Father would be informed, be involved, and Zuko would be broken. They wouldn’t even feel bad. 

“Of course, you might want to go on deck just for a little bit. Chena’s been waiting for you to wake up.” Hakoda said, smile evil, blue gaze lidded. 

Zuko thought of the inevitable encounter with the big warrior, knowing he would have to explain to Chena why he’d protected him, knowing Chena would probably enjoy this, would probably think this meant he’d won the feud between them. 

Zuko groaned, before nodding. 

____ 

Zuko was just leaving when Hakoda thought to ask one more thing. 

“Your Highness?” Hakoda asked, drumming his fingers against his desk. Zuko turned from where he stood by the door, already frowning in concern, as if he expected Hakoda to reveal all his previous words had been nothing but trickery. It felt like a kick to the ribs whenever Zuko reacted to common kindnesses like that, but Hakoda got by on the fact that, every day, these reactions lessened, slowly becoming unnatural. 

“I need you to make me a promise.” Hakoda said, and he remembered the last promise, the only promise, made between the pair. A promise of fair treatment. It wasn't enough. Zuko deserved so much more than fair, Hakoda knew that now. 

“What kind of promise?” Zuko asked, suspicious. 

Hakoda smiled a small smile, but he couldn’t force down all of his apprehension. For all his casualness, his words had weight. 

“I need you to promise me that from now on, whatever you do, you’ll think things through first. No more running off to redirect lightning on the off chance you won’t die.” Hakoda said gruffly. “Promise?” 

Because Zuko’s track record of short-sighted, suicidal plans was about as bad on Hakoda’s nerves as the knowledge that Sokka and Katara had witnessed _multiple_ volcanic eruptions. Zuko should have died ten times over. It seemed the Spirits had their eye on him, but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hakoda had sworn he would keep Zuko safe, but he couldn’t do that if Zuko’s low opinion of himself fought Hakoda at every junction. 

Zuko smirked, rolling his eyes like Katara used to when Hakoda fussed too much. 

“I promise.” 

____ 

Chena was pacing, which was something he’d been doing for an entire day. He paced with a fervour, like he was seeing which would wear first; the deck or his shoes. He had been pacing ever since he’d managed to – with a lot of difficulty – get the Fire Prince to the infirmary. The Fire Prince who was smoking slightly, the Fire Prince who had just caught a bolt of lightning and promptly chucked it in the other direction, the Fire Prince who, Chena decided, was the biggest idiot on the Ullaakut. That was a very bold statement to make. 

And the Fire Prince who Chena now owed his life to. 

Fuck. 

“You not going into the town at all?" Aput asked from where he was watching his friend pace, leaning casually against the fixed mainmast. It was a push to call Weihai a town. It was a port, first and foremost, with a few shops and houses built in the sturdy, wooden Earth Kingdom style scattered around. It was still a little too far south for much shrubbery to survive the cold, and the people here were as bitter as the air, but despite that, the crew of the Ullaakut had been desperate to stretch their legs, and most wandered off within the first few minutes of being in port. Not Chena. Not today. He couldn’t get out of his head, let alone off the ship. He was waiting, which required a lot of pacing. 

“No.” Chena responded gruffly. 

Aput smirked. “Thinking about your knight in shining armour? How does it feel to be saved by a teenager?" 

Like Chena had been the one to be hit by lightning. 

“Do you have nothing better to do other than watch my pride burn?” Chena asked, tone venomous but half-hearted. 

“Ha, firebending pun. I like it." Aput said, and Chena growled in frustration. 

That was when he heard footsteps, someone coming onto the deck, tread light and purposeful; the grace of royal training, the elegance of a palace. Chena whirled, and there was Prince Zuko. He looked completely fine. A little dazed, but fine. He had been hit by lightning and he was _fine_. Chena's instinct to reel away from that, his fear and hatred of firebenders and what they were capable of, sizzled angrily within him. There had been a strange tension amongst the crew since last night’s events, a camelephant in the room. They'd all assumed that Prince Zuko was hot-headed and dangerous, but no match for an entire crew of skilled warriors. Last night, the Prince showed them that that might not be the case. They were all trying to figure out why the Fire Prince hadn’t killed them all, and Chena wanted to be cynical and say that Prince Zuko was plotting something, but this firebender had saved his life. _With_ firebending. 

It didn’t make sense. 

Chena glared at Prince Zuko. Prince Zuko glared right back. The hatred in the air was palpable, the uncertainty of violence crawling over Chena's skin, his fingers twitching with the desire for a machete, or _anything_. 

Chena turned his glare on Aput, who refused to read the atmosphere, shown by how he continued to lean against the mainmast, smiling a little. 

“This is nice.” Aput said. 

Chena didn’t return his smile. “Aput?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Got it.” 

Chena waited until the other warrior had walked completely down the gangplank, feet landing firmly on the soft banks of Weihai, and then Chena continued to wait, until Aput was nothing more than a blob of blue in a sea of green. He wasn’t _stalling_ , he was just... just... 

Okay, yes, he was stalling. 

“For starters,” Chena said, “I still don’t fucking like you.” 

Prince Zuko nodded. “The feeling is mutual.” 

“However,” Chena felt the words physically fight to stay unspoken, “I don’t like you because of... something else now. Like, I have a lot of reasons to not like you, but you’ve given me... less reasons. It's not to do with you being... Fire Nation... anymore. I just don’t like you as a person. That doesn’t mean I'm not... grateful-.” 

“Please tell me you’re not trying to apologise again. I will _pay_ you to not do that.” Prince Zuko urged, clearly feeling just as awkward as Chena. The casual dismissal only enraged Chena further, and it was suddenly a lot easier to talk now he knew Prince Zuko wasn’t enjoying himself at all. Chena had expected the Prince to grow smug, arrogant, condescending when Chena had to inevitably thank him for saving his life. That wasn’t what was happening. It seemed that if the two of them were ever going to have anything in common, it would be this; their hatred for verbal proclamations of emotion. 

“Shut the fuck up, you little brat. If I want to apologise, I'll fucking apologise. Even though I was actually going to _thank you_.” Every word made the Prince look more and more awkward, and Chena was starting to enjoy himself a little. “You know what? Fuck you, I'm gonna do both.” 

“You don’t have to-.” 

“Thank you for saving my life,” Chena said proudly, “and I’m sorry I never gave you a chance. You might not be the homicidal ashmaker I assumed.” 

Prince Zuko looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing Weihai to his right like he was forcibly resisting the urge to jump overboard. 

“It’s not a big deal.” The Prince finally mumbled, and Chena couldn’t help but snort. Spirits, he’d seen this boy bend _lightning_ last night, and still, it was impossible for Chena to quite see him as a serious threat anymore. He was just a kid. An awkward, mumbling kid. 

Chena's smile slowly fell. He remembered slashing his machete down, cutting through armour that was too thin to begin with; decorative – a Prince was never supposed to see battle, slicing young skin and watching red bloom in his wake. Prince Zuko would always have that scar. There weren’t enough apologies in the world that would ever get rid of that scar. This was the first time the thought didn’t make Chena smug. Now, he felt uneasy, like he was watching someone pull the wings off bumble-flies. 

The sudden emotion for the Fire Prince was, frankly, revolting, and Chena swallowed it quickly. 

“I'm going to town.” Chena declared, because he needed to punch a tree or some shit before he screamed. “Stay here and don’t cause trouble. We're even now.” 

“How does you almost breaking my arm in the South Pole and me saving you from lightning make us _even?_ ” 

“Stay on the ship.” Chena called over his shoulder as he stomped down the gangplank, swallowing a laugh at the Prince’s perplexed growl. “I don't have the energy to deal with you getting snatched up by the Earth Kingdom.” 

Chena didn’t like Prince Zuko. He didn't like the kid’s stubbornness and he didn’t like his refusal to give up and he _certainly_ didn’t like how awkward he got at even the insinuation of human emotions. 

He didn’t like him. 

At all. 

Not even a little bit. 

____ 

The merchant watched the Water Tribe ship lift their anchor, retracting their gangplank and slowly pulling out of port. Weihai was a small town, its sole purpose being to make the journey from the South Pole to the main Earth Kingdom more bearable. There was a population here of a few hundred; fishermen and elderly and merchants. Nothing ever happened. Ships came and went and no one ever stayed. 

Which was what made the Colonel so interesting. 

The merchant was old and weathered by this bland world of his. He knew his way around things. He sold clothing and fabrics, sewn by his own hands. The material wasn’t fine, but he took pride in its sturdiness. Crewmen weren’t looking for finery; they were looking for effectiveness. 

He knew the type of people who came into his shop. They knew what they wanted, barely browsed, paid what they had to, and never returned. The Colonel stood out. It wasn’t just the green uniform that showed her respectable military position, which was finer than any fabric in the merchant’s entire store, but that she was so staggeringly atmospheric. She was middle-aged and tall, her features drawn up proudly, skin a rich tan and smoothed out a little too perfectly, and charcoal black hair that fell to the base of her spine in a merciless ponytail. It was her eyes that stuck with the merchant the most. They were a deep green, like the heart of a forest, and they seemed to pass over every single crevice of the store. 

She was interesting. She didn’t fit the usual clientele. She browsed, pausing by the large window to the side of the shop. The merchant was the closest to the port, his window looking out over the ships and ocean beyond. He could see everything from here. 

“Good morning, my dear.” The merchant had tried, because truthfully, the woman was unsettling him. “Can I help you?” 

When she spoke, her voice was smooth and deep and _omniscient_. “Yes,” she had smiled, “I think you can.” 

Her request was simple. She would be staying at a B&B a few streets away for a little while, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. The merchant would alert her if any Water Tribe ships arrived. That was all. 

“Expecting someone?” The merchant had winked, before having to pull out the handkerchief he kept on him, coughing into the white fabric. It was stained slightly pink now. 

Colonel Tovah chuckled. “Something like that.” 

And now, the merchant was watching the Water Tribe ship leave port. It had only stayed a few hours. The merchant had sent word as soon as they docked, and had watched the ship ever since. Not much had happened, but he took note of the crewmen nonetheless. There was something about Tovah that demanded detail, and something that made the merchant reluctant to cross her. 

“You missed them.” The merchant said when the tall woman entered the store. She looked the same as the last time they met; not a hair out of place. 

“I was sightseeing.” Tovah said with the air of someone who was not sightseeing. 

“I watched the ship, took details of their appearances. If you’re looking for someone in particular, I can describe who I saw.” The merchant suggested, a wry glint in his eyes. 

The merchant was old and weathered by this bland world of his, and he knew his way around things. He knew nothing came free. He knew Tovah needed this information for whatever reason. He knew he was valuable to her. 

“Please,” Tovah arched an elegant eyebrow, “tell me everything.” 

The merchant sighed dramatically. “I am old, though, my dear. My mind fails me, perhaps if I had something to jog my memory?” 

Tovah watched him a moment, before her lips curled into a smile. It was more reminiscent of a predator baring its teeth. 

“Of course." Tovah said, before pulling out a purse that jingled promisingly from her pocket. The merchant eyed it hungrily, reaching for it. He could tell it would be enough, and the thought made him jittery, but just before he could clutch it, Tovah moved. It was such a quick movement, a snappish jerk of her wrist, and suddenly, she was examining the merchant’s hand, holding him in place. 

“Your fingernails are blue.” Tovah observed with an air of boredom. 

The merchant swallowed his sudden nerves. “Old age.” 

“Is it?” Tovah narrowed her eyes, and when the merchant tried to pull back his hand, she tightened her grip, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his wrinkled skin. “When you cough, there’s blood in your spit. Rare, yet you shrug it off like you’re used to it. Your fingernails are blue and your pupils are pinpointed, and your skin,” she swiped a finger over his hand, “is incredibly clammy. You latched onto the thought of money but we both know you won’t be spending it on your store. You have all the symptoms of an opium addiction. Might I point out that opium was made illegal in the Earth Kingdom _decades_ ago. It wouldn’t take much for me to mention your little problem to the local soldiers. They would have no qualms removing one frail, old man.” 

Tovah watched. The merchant was trembling, heart racing in his chest in terror. For a few seconds, he could only stand frozen, everything around him, his home, his life, his world, threatening to split in two in this woman’s hands. 

“I suggest,” Tovah said, and she was still smiling so easily, “that you tell me everything you know, and we’ll keep this little _exchange_ ,” her smile grew, “between us. Yes, _my dear?_ ” 

The merchant swallowed thickly, before nodding. Tovah released his hand, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, and listened to what the merchant told her. And he did tell her. He told her everything, voice shaking, throat tight. He told her of the Water Tribe warriors, how one of the younger ones looked a little different and didn’t leave the ship. At this detail, Tovah honed in, and her questions on him were relentless to the point she wanted to know even the boy’s hair colour. The merchant had only seen the boy’s right side from a distance, but Tovah seemed satisfied. When he was done, Tovah nodded once. 

She left, taking the money with her. The merchant never saw her again. 

____ 

Tovah had not been sightseeing before her visit to the merchant’s, and she certainly hadn’t ‘missed’ the Water Tribe ship. Everything that happened today happened because Tovah wanted it to. 

General Fong had assigned her to Weihai, a few of his soldiers already in the small town after having dispatched when it was too late to inform them of Chief Hakoda’s letter. Fong was almost certain the Water Tribe would make port here, despite cancelling their rendezvous. He'd sent men towards Ba Sing Se after Chief Hakoda's tip off, and Tovah's own superiors were headed that way, convinced of the Water Tribe's honesty. But Tovah knew not to underestimate anyone, and Fong wanted her to quietly observe, just to see if there were any discrepancies with Chief Hakoda’s story. It was the smartest thing Fong had suggested in weeks. 

Within her first hour in the town, Tovah took note of the merchant’s store. It was a perfect spot, what with its window outlooking the port. She first approached him then, making her offer. His symptoms were glaringly obvious, but Tovah rarely allowed confidence without some form of certainty. Her line of work couldn't afford mistakes. She had to know everything, or know nothing. Of course, the merchant hardly made it difficult. He closed early that night. He didn’t go home. He met with a hooded man in the shadow of a brothel. As soon as the pair split, Tovah approached the hooded man. It's incredible what a man will spill when at the end of a knife. He told her what she already suspected, and he gave her two purses full of Earth Kingdom money. There was an irony in that. 

After, Tovah spent her time assessing the locals. It was habit more than anything. Tovah’s first instinct upon meeting someone was to completely scrutinise them, analysing them, drawing out their weaknesses and, even better, unpicking their secrets. Tovah was a non-bender working in the shadows of her field of expertise; manipulation was her weapon, and her mind was deadly. 

Tovah’s handful of soldiers kept their heads down for their short stint in Weihai. General Fong had been very clear in his briefing. If the Water Tribe thought the Earth Kingdom were doubting them, things could get tense, and the last thing they needed was Chief Hakoda withholding information on the Fire Prince like a petulant child refusing to share his toys. So, Tovah and the others were to be a secret force of authority, working for the greater good. _Not unlike the Dai Li of Ba Sing Se,_ General Fong had gone on to muse. Tovah found that comment particularly amusing. 

The merchant sent word as soon as the Water Tribe made port, more obedient than Tovah ever could have hoped. Tovah knew he expected her to come running to his store, grateful for his compliance, but she would do no such thing. The merchant knew no more than she did; only that the ship had made port. If she left him for a few hours, then perhaps he would use his initiative to observe the crewmen. Aside that, he was now useless to Tovah, and she discarded him from her mind for the rest of the day. 

She had other business to attend to, in the back allies of Weihai. 

A family of three. A mother, father, and daughter, walking to their house. Tovah had watched them for days. The child was five-years-old and always looked a little grubby. The mother’s fingers were covered in small bandages; a seamstress. And the father... the father was the one Tovah was after. He was a fisherman. Every morning, he woke up at dawn and walked from his small house at the back of the village all the way to the port. His boat was the smallest of all the fishermen’s, his eyes the most sunken, his cheekbones the most pronounced. Yesterday, he’d returned from sea looking more vacant than usual. His hull had been damaged. He couldn’t afford to fix it. 

Fong hadn’t instructed Tovah to do this, but Tovah understood the complexities of planning. Fong saw only the present; Tovah saw the future. The General hadn’t yet asked the question of what happened after Weihai. What happened when Tovah returned with nothing to report, leaving it too late to come back and find the long-departed Water Tribe? No, Tovah would deal with this herself. She needed a way of tracking the Water Tribe’s movements, just until she was sure they would uphold their end of this new, fragile alliance. But the ship she came here in was big, bulky, distinctively Earth Kingdom. This struggling father however... well, his boat was the smallest of all the fishermen’s. 

“Excuse me?” Tovah had asked sweetly, making the family stop in their tracks. Conversation in this part of town was rare and usually dangerous. 

“Is everything alright?” The father asked, subtly pushing his curious daughter behind him. 

Tovah threw a purse at the man in an elegant arc, and he caught it with a fumble, the sound of coins smacking together filling the alley. 

“There is a Water Tribe ship docked right now.” Tovah said, holding the man’s confused stare. “You’re going to ready your boat and stay in it. I can’t know when they’ll leave, but when they do, you’re going to follow them. Keep a good distance, though. I don’t want any suspicion. As soon as they make their next port, you send word back to me here in Weihai. Do you understand?” 

It was clear from the man’s stuttering expression that he did not understand. His wife was smart enough to look scared, but he couldn’t help but clutch the money in his hand a little tighter. 

“Why would I help you?” The man finally braved. “I don’t want any trouble.” 

Tovah sighed, before turning her green gaze on the little girl. The mother visibly stiffened, holding her daughter’s shoulder, like that would protect her from Tovah. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Tovah asked softly. 

“Kyo.” The little girl answered quietly, making her mother tug at her in warning. There was a tension in the alley that hadn’t been there a minute ago. _Fear_. It was an emotion Tovah learnt to wield long ago. Information was such a powerful tool, and when it came to manipulation, Tovah was a master. 

“Well, Kyo,” Tovah’s sweet smile widened, “do you know how easy it is for a fisherman’s boat to be upturned when out at sea?” 

Kyo choked in a breath of horrified surprise, her mother pulling her into her arms and holding her close. 

“It really doesn’t take much. A little nudge, a little too much force. And with such a small boat...” Tovah flicked her gaze to the father, who’d gone pale, “no one would suspect any malignance behind it. Everyone always says drowning is such a peaceful way to go. I've heard different. I've heard it feels like claws raking down your throat-.” 

“Stop!” The mother begged, and Tovah did, knowing it had worked. 

That was her threat. Tovah was very good at threats. Kyo was starting to cry quietly, her mumbled demands of if her father was safe when he left to work being hushed by her terrified mother. Tovah looked back at the fisherman, the feigned sweetness falling from her. 

“You will go to your boat. Now.” Tovah ordered. 

“I... I can’t.” The man stammered pathetically. “My hull, it got damaged yesterday.” 

Tovah flicked her gaze to the money still clutched in the fisherman’s hand. “You didn’t honestly think that money was for your own personal use, did you?” 

She watched him connect the dots in his mind, watched him realise how inescapable Tovah truly was. He didn’t argue further, and Tovah left the parents to deal with their crying child. 

Of course, afterwards, the merchant had decided to surprise her. He’d used his initiative like Tovah had hoped, but to her delight, he’d tried to play her, and at her own game, no less. It didn’t matter; Tovah got what she wanted. 

If the merchant was right, and he had no reason to lie, then the Fire Prince was still with the Water Tribe. Tovah didn’t know if that meant they wanted him for their own bartering and were cutting off any competition the Earth Kingdom presented, but she did know she was suddenly very happy to have enlisted the fisherman’s help. 

Wherever the Water Tribe went, wherever the Prince went, Tovah would follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Tovah's world we're just living in it. that bitch intimidates the fuck out of me. the way that the merchant really thought he did something there lmao nice try bitch she's three steps ahead ALWAYS.  
> 


	15. i. Tomkin Fraternises With The Earth Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So let’s talk about the last chapter's response. I was expecting comments on Tovah’s sociopathic tendencies, maybe an analysis or two, a few mentions of the budding friendship between Zuko and now the entirety of the Papa Squad. That is NOT what I received. I overestimated your intelligence. I dIdN’T kNoW wHaT pAliMpSeSt MeaNt lOl. I'd also like to say that Tovah wants to achieve world domination but she can’t do that with the fucking lesbians grabbing at her like this. Seriously. I handed you a cold-hearted woman with nice hair and you went feral. Go to the corner of shame and think about what you’ve done. You're all slappers and I hate you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've come to a decision. I think I WON'T make this into a series and instead just keep it all as one big fic. Be honest, does that make u hate me. If i get enough people yelling at me for this, then I'll obvs listen because you may all be stupid bitches but you’re MY stupid bitches. Basically I was SET on doing this as a series because i’d be able to give the second part its own blurb and tags etc and it'd be more distinctive, but then I realised just how fucking complicated that would be and like i’m the same bitch who couldn’t link things until like 4 chapters ago, you really think I can figure out a SERIES? And the title wasn’t made with the assumption that there’d be others so like. It's all just a palaver and I can’t be doing with it. I will probably rewrite the blurb thing though so if u see that change then no u don’t <3 GOD I hate writing blurbs if any of you want to do it for me and just psychically figure out the rest of the plot then I'd appreciate it. So yeah. If you’re disappointed about the No Series reveal, know that it’s because i am literally just lazy. That’s the only reason. Kill me if you must.  
> .  
> Have a good day or whatever u turds and absolutely DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES do anything I wouldn’t do xx

There were memories here. Strange things, half-buried like the scattered shells nearby and just as brittle. Zuko was stood on a beach, looking out at the ocean, the waves lapping against his ankles and the breeze reeking of salt. 

They’d made a camp on the coast of a nearby Earth Kingdom town, Gaoling, after leaving Weihai a few days ago. The Chief had decided they would stay here for a little while. The warriors in Chameleon Bay were expecting their fellow Tribesmen soon, but they’d made better time than they’d expected, and Hakoda was desperate for his Second, Bato, to finally reunite with them. This wasn’t an official port and the Ullaakut was simply docked amongst the sand, anchor buried deep down, but the buildings of Gaoling were clear behind the treeline, and the beach gave the warriors space to pitch their tents. 

And while the Southern Water Tribe warriors milled about, Zuko stood on the beach, entranced. There were memories here. This ocean was different than the one in the South Pole. No ice, no snow, no darkness. The sun was back. For the first time in far too long, Zuko felt awake. It was a strange fullness, like he’d been flagging for days on end only to have his energy finally replenished. Agni had returned to him with each mile, and now his orange rays swam over the loose sand. The days were still shorter than they were in the Fire Nation, but the deeper they delved into the Earth Kingdom, the more normal everything felt. And Zuko felt _good_. Nothing substantial was actually different. The Ullaakut still stood proud as always and the men chattered to one another as always. Nothing had changed, just a few more hours of sunlight, and yet the world was just... better. 

Maybe because Zuko was finally on land. Real land, not ice, or the swaying deck of a ship. 

Maybe because Zuko had always loved coming to the beach. That was something he inherited from his mother. 

He saw her here; strange, half-buried, brittle. He saw her long hair twirling in the breeze. He saw her chasing him into the sea. He saw himself, a child, laughing. He saw Azula before the world convinced her happiness was something to swallow. He saw Mother teaching him how to swim. He saw himself in turn teaching Azula. She'd hated it, the vulnerability of the ocean, having to place her weight in Zuko’s hands and trust he wouldn’t let her drown. He hadn’t, then. He swore he never would. Yet now, as he stared out at the ocean, his mother’s phantom touch lingering on his shoulder, he wondered if knowing Azula could swim was any excuse to abandon her to the waves. 

Zuko also wondered what his mother would tell him now, because he was finally _on land_. He could leave right now, Hakoda had even said he could. He could leave Gaoling, walk straight through the Si Wong Desert until he made it to the heart of the Earth Kingdom. The Earth Kingdom; the place he last saw Uncle. If he’d known that day on the Erlong when he pulled away that ladder, that the last expression he’d see on his uncle’s face would be that of abject horror, would he still have done the things he did? 

Zuko pulled out his pai sho tile. He'd traced it so many times that the white lotus symbol was starting to fade a little. He felt the urge to hurl it into the ocean, but stopped himself. This was a sea of memories, and memories were things of the past. Zuko knew his journey here wasn’t over. When it was, he’d give this tile to Uncle. He'd play him in a game of pai sho. He'd lose, and for once, he wouldn’t lose his temper. Seeing Uncle Iroh laugh, pour tea that wasn’t scorched like Kanut’s - that would be enough. Zuko missed him. He was ready to admit that. He didn’t think it was weak anymore. He wouldn’t start telling Uncle’s stupid jokes or going on monologues about his ridiculous proverbs anytime soon, but in this quiet corner of the beach where his mother’s presence felt so suddenly poignant, Zuko could admit that he missed his uncle. 

He could also admit that he wouldn’t leave the Water Tribe. Not yet. The temptation to walk off into the treeline and not look back was fleeting, instinctive, but Zuko didn’t really want it. He knew he _should_ want it. He should want to evade his captors and return to hunting the Avatar - Agni knew how far behind on his search he was now – and he knew he was hardly a permanent member of the tribe, because that could never work. But still, Zuko stayed put. And he couldn’t quite figure out why. 

Perhaps because he made that promise to Hakoda. 

Zuko worked his jaw. Yes, that had to be it. He promised he’d plan things thoroughly now. He owed Hakoda enough to honour that promise, and saying he’d start thinking things through did _not_ mean waltzing off into a desert with no supplies or forethought. _That_ was why Zuko wasn’t taking this opportunity to leave. There was no other reason. 

“Zuko!” Nanook called suddenly, pulling Zuko from his bittersweet thoughts with a small smile, because he knew Nanook also meant Tomkin, and those two always meant the rest of the Water Tribe with their quirks and bad humour. 

No other reason at all. 

“Heads up!” Nanook yelled again. Zuko ducked quickly, both instinct and spending too long with the Water Tribe’s youngest crewmen, and just missed a wave of water splashed towards him by Nanook. 

“What the fuck, Nan?” Zuko growled, before noticing that Tomkin was now dripping wet on Zuko’s other side. 

“For the love of Tui, Nanook! I was gonna sneak up on him!” Tomkin cried, dismayed, and Nanook cackled, slapping a hand to Zuko’s shoulder. 

“I’ve said it a hundred times, Little Tom, he’s _grounded_.” Nanook urged, and Zuko rolled his eyes. 

Ever since the lightning incident, Nanook had gone into a fierce protective state of Zuko. Every time Zuko did something even remotely risky, Nanook would latch onto whichever of Zuko’s limbs were closest. It wasn’t exactly hugging, more a vicelike, inescapable grip, but... it wasn’t terrible. Tomkin said Nanook was in ‘mama-polar-bear' mode. Nanook simply said Zuko was grounded and that he wouldn’t be letting him out of his sight anytime soon. Zuko knew he was supposed to find it annoying, and he did, but only at surface level. He’d never had someone be protective of him before, not since his mother. 

Agni, was she _everywhere_ today? 

“Brooding?” Tomkin asked once he was done dramatically shaking his clothes, as if that would dry them. It was strange seeing the Water Tribe without their thick anoraks and mukluks, stripped down to their undershirts, some going barefoot. They insisted it was far too hot. Zuko still felt a little cold, but said nothing. He wasn’t a baby. 

“I don’t _brood_ -.” 

“Oh,” Tomkin clutched his heart, swooning heavily against Zuko, “watch me not-brood as I stare wistfully at the ocean, pondering my past and future and the dashingly handsome Water Tribe boy beside me-!” 

Zuko elbowed Tomkin in the ribs, kicking out his legs in an elegant, practised move, and the next second, Tomkin was crashing down into the water. Nanook erupted in laughter, and Zuko couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed Tomkin looking stupid was one sure-fire way of always making him laugh, and right now, drenched and with his usual odd ponytail sticking to his forehead, Tomkin looked very stupid. 

Tomkin, tellingly, didn’t appreciate this. Zuko felt a hand grab his leg and suddenly, he was yanked down, freezing water submerging him with all the shock of a punch to the face. He sat up, hands pushing into the sludgy sand beneath him, and gasped in a breath. 

“You piece of-!” 

“Hey, Fire Princess!” Chena yelled suddenly, cutting off Zuko’s outrage and making him turn to see the big warrior stomping towards them. The sight didn’t make Zuko’s stomach twist like it usually did, and he didn’t like that. 

“What?” Zuko asked, not hiding his annoyance at Chena’s arrival as Nanook hauled him to his feet, dripping wet. 

“Don’t _‘what’_ me. You ought to be on the ship, dumbass.” Chena growled, nodding to the Ullaakut. 

“He’s _been_ on the ship since the South Pole.” Tomkin whined childishly. 

Zuko stayed quiet. In all honesty, he didn’t know where he stood with this. He'd stayed on the ship in Weihai because Hakoda suggested it, not because he had no choice. It was for his protection. Gaoling was safer, and General Fong had no reason to believe they would come here, and when Zuko sheepishly allowed himself to be dragged down the gangplank by Nanook’s iron grip, Hakoda had watched and said nothing. Zuko wasn’t breaking any rules by being down here, so why did it feel like it? Why was he even risking it? 

Zuko shifted his weight on the sand, felt the sturdiness of his surroundings. No swaying, or crash of waves, or crunch of snow. Stable. He would never admit it, but he’d missed land more than he’d realised. He wasn’t born to be seafaring. The Erlong had never done such large stretches of sailing as the Ullaakut did consistently. He'd risked leaving the ship because he felt like he had no other choice. Just as he’d felt exhausted when Agni left him, he felt cramped when land left him. He just needed to stretch his legs. He'd done that now. 

“I’ll go back. I just wanted a few minutes.” Zuko said, making the three turn to him. Chena looked perplexed that Zuko was actually agreeing with him, and Tomkin and Nanook were frowning like they usually did whenever Zuko didn’t psychically stick to whatever plan they’d mentally concocted. 

“Uh, yeah, dude, that’s not happening. Nice try.” Tomkin said with a small, evil smile. 

“We’re taking you up town.” Nanook continued before Zuko could ask, throwing an arm around Zuko’s shoulders and then quickly pulling back when he was reminded that Zuko was very much still dripping wet. 

“You want to take him _up town?_ ” Chena replied, dumbfounded. 

“Is everything alright here?” Hakoda’s sudden voice sounded, and the four looked to see the Chief approaching, expression concerned as he looked between Zuko and Chena. Zuko found it a little funny that, for once, he wasn’t the one arguing with Chena. 

“No, everything isn’t alright.” Chena growled. “Idiots 1, 2 and 3 have decided on a day trip in Gaoling.” 

Hakoda blinked, thought for a second, and then nodded. “I know. I said they could.” 

Chena scoffed in horror, and even Zuko felt his jaw drop in surprise. “But-.” 

“But he’s the fucking Fire Prince!” Chena interrupted, using different words to what Zuko was going to but still getting the general message across. 

Hakoda shrugged his big shoulders, grinning casually. “And as long as he doesn’t start yelling that from the rooftops, we won’t have a problem.” 

“What about General Fong?” Zuko finally found his voice. Tomkin was practically vibrating with excitement beside him. Something as mundane as a trip to town shouldn’t have felt as surreal as it did. 

“Fong and I have been in contact. Our alliance is restored and he thinks you’re headed to Ba Sing Se, which is the other side of the Earth Kingdom to here. He won’t waste time in Gaoling; he has no reason to. And he has no reason to think I'm lying. You're safe.” Hakoda’s grin became a smile, honest and difficult not to believe, though Zuko’s instincts tried with all their might. _Safe_ just didn’t happen in Zuko’s life, and it certainly wasn’t handed over by an adult who’d made all the decisions for him and requested nothing in return. 

Zuko was expecting a catch. He hated himself for it, but he was still waiting for the Water Tribe to turn on him. He knew with most of his being that they wouldn’t do that, if not because of the relationships he’d built with them then simply because of their honest nature. The men here were too honourable. If they wanted to hurt Zuko, they’d do it in a forthright manner, like Chena had. Zuko knew he _could_ trust them, but he was still coming to terms with if he was capable of doing so. 

It seemed the problem had never lied with the Water Tribe, but rather Zuko himself. 

“This is stupid. Like really fucking stupid.” Chena said, but he sounded defeated. 

Nanook narrowed his eyes on the big warrior. “Sounds to me like you’re worried about him, Chena.” 

Chena dropped the matter very quickly after that, and the next thing Zuko knew, he was getting into dry clothes and being sandwiched between Tomkin and Nanook as they walked towards Gaoling. 

____ 

Hakoda was and always would be cool in Tomkin’s eyes, and this was exactly why. Chena had been so adamant that the three youngest crewmen not go into Gaoling, that Zuko stay on the ship even though everyone could tell from a mile away that his mood had lifted the moment he got the chance to step off the Ullaakut. And then Hakoda had come on over and shut the warrior up with a quick ‘ _I said they could_ ’. 

Hakoda had said no such thing. Tomkin and Nanook hadn’t even asked him yet, and had been planning to do so as last minute as possible in order to quickly bolt if he said no. It seemed they hadn’t needed to worry, and now, Tomkin and the other two finally scaled the steep hill leading to the large town. Paths of packed dirt snaked through the lush green dales around them, and in the centre of the hilly landscape was a large cluster of green-roofed buildings. Gaoling. 

“I am going to buy so much from the market.” Tomkin uttered. 

“This is exactly why Hakoda trusted me with the money.” Nanook said. 

Zuko rolled his eyes and walked forward like he often did when he expected the Water Tribesmen to start bickering. It made Tomkin grin, and he jogged to catch up. 

The market was a bustling place, full of Earth Kingdom citizens in their bland green drab and merchants selling all kinds of things, from mouth-wateringly aromatic foods to fashionable looking clothes. Barkers called out to them, luring Tomkin over each time and leading Zuko and Nanook to take turns dragging him away. They roamed the marketplace for an hour – according to Zuko’s freakish inner-clock – before Tomkin found himself stopping at one stall in particular. 

“A lover of the arts?” The salesman behind the simple wooden stall asked, quirking a bushy eyebrow. 

“Not quite.” Tomkin said, smile growing. 

This stall sold theatre wares. Props and scripts and even a few autographs, all arranged on the table or pinned decoratively to the wall behind the salesman, who busied himself with his display as Tomkin browsed. Tomkin had been attracted by a splash of blue when he’d walked past, and now he couldn’t look away. 

Hung on a nail was the same mask worn by the fabled Blue Spirit. 

“What’re you-?” Zuko began, before gasping in delighted surprise. “He’s selling Tang Xianzu’s autograph!” 

“What the fuck is a Tang Xianzu?” Tomkin asked, still staring at the mask, though he didn’t need to look at Zuko to know the other boy was glaring at him like Tomkin had just personally offended him. 

“Only the greatest Earth Kingdom playwright of all time.” Zuko stressed, fingers tracing the scroll with the playwright’s autograph on it with an impossibly gentle touch. Tomkin couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Zuko was his friend, but Tomkin would be stupid to pretend Zuko didn’t have rough edges. His arm still stung with the reminder, as much as he tried to hide the burn from Zuko’s guilty gaze. But in that moment as Zuko got excited over a _playwright_ , of all things, he seemed so... so _soft_. 

Of course, it didn’t last. The next second, Zuko blinked, and pulled his hand back like the scroll had burned him. 

“It’s stupid. I don’t even like plays. My mother dragged me to them.” He said quickly, all of the passion leeching from his voice and leaving a depressing, hollow shell. “Come on. Where's Nanook?” 

Tomkin tried not to be too troubled by the sudden shift in Zuko’s mood, and forced himself to appear light-hearted. “Probably still stuffing himself at the bakery, because when _he_ decides something is a valid purchase it’s suddenly fine.” Tomkin said with a huff. 

“That’s because he didn’t try to buy three flowerpots at the last stall.” Zuko pointed out, and Tomkin personally didn’t appreciate his tone. 

“They would have been excellent additions to the ship and you know it.” 

“Why does a _ship_ need _flowerpots?_ ” Zuko hissed. 

“Why does anyone need anything? Get off my back.” Tomkin huffed childishly like the world was very unfair, which it was. He would have been a great plant dad, but _no_ , Nanook and Zuko _had_ to spoil his fun. 

With a sigh, Tomkin jerked his chin towards the Blue Spirit mask. “Anyway, maybe this would be a better purchase.” 

Tomkin had been hoping to see confusion on Zuko’s face, leaving him to excitedly explain to the ignorant Prince all about the Fire Nation vigilante whose posters had been in every port they’d docked at for the past four weeks. However, confusion wasn’t what Zuko showed. No, his expression was more accurately described as ‘ _oh shit_ ’. 

“Why- um, why would you want a dumb theatre mask? At least I think it’s a theatre mask. I don’t know. Is it a theatre mask? I've never seen it before.” Zuko said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. _Weird_ , Tomkin thought, before feeling the urge to facepalm. Of course Zuko was reacting strangely. The Blue Spirit was an enemy of the Fire Nation, and he was famous for breaking the Avatar out of that stronghold. Zuko probably hated the guy. What was that stronghold called again? Pohuai? Thinking of it, Zuko’s ship had been near there when they found him. Tomkin almost gasped in excitement. 

“Did you fight him?” He whispered eagerly, making sure the salesman couldn’t hear him and grabbing Zuko’s elbow to ensure the firebender’s full attention. “The Blue Spirit, I mean? What was he like? Wait!” Tomkin’s blue eyes widened. “You guys have the same swords! That's so cool!" 

Zuko was staring at Tomkin like he was waiting for something, his entire body rigid. Tomkin couldn’t tell, but it looked like the other boy had stopped breathing. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. 

“I’ve been looking for you idiots for ages. What's going on?” Nanook’s voice suddenly sounded, and Tomkin turned to see his fellow Tribesman approaching them, a half-eaten baguette in his hand. Tomkin's attention span was notoriously awful, and he completely forgot the conversation with Zuko, instead honing in on the baguette. 

“How much did you spend on bread?!” He demanded, outraged as he thought of the three flowerpots he left behind. 

Beside him, Zuko finally released a breath. 

____ 

Zuko hadn’t expected he’d need to practise his breathing exercises in the middle of an Earth Kingdom market, but then he also hadn’t expected Tomkin to be so fundamentally oblivious. It made sense; this was the same boy who apologised to Zuko for taking his things back when Zuko was very much a hated prisoner to every other Tribesman. That didn’t make Zuko relax. Tomkin knew of the Blue Spirit. He liked the Blue Spirit. He knew Zuko had the same swords as the Blue Spirit. He knew Zuko was very close to the Pohuai stronghold when their ships met. He probably also knew that the Blue Spirit hadn’t been seen since Zuko was taken by the Water Tribe. Tomkin had all the facts, he just hadn’t thought to combine them. Yet. 

Zuko was stood in front of a stand selling various ribbons. They had every colour here, an entire rainbow, and the woman selling them was old and wrinkled, but had a kind smile as she gave Zuko an acknowledging nod. Zuko saw her gaze flick from his black hair to his pale skin, resting over his gold eyes, but she, like everyone else here, also saw his burn and blue clothes, and assumed it was just unlucky genetics. 

Carefully, Zuko traced one of the ribbons that hung from a wooden hook. It was blood red, familiar. Zuko shook the thought of the Blue Spirit from his mind. It had been a close call, but he had bigger things to worry about. Like Lee. 

He’d decided in the South Pole that he would change his thought process from now on. He loved his father, but he had to put his people first. He had to find a way to end the war. Even just coming to that decision was substantial, and uprooted a lifetime of various beliefs that had been forced upon him. He'd spent a few days coming to terms with it, but now, it was time to think of a plan. 

This was where the problems started, because Zuko had absolutely no idea where to start with ending a war. 

It had been waging for _a hundred years_. The Fire Nation were the most powerful nation, yet they hadn’t won. Certain hurdles stood in their way. The Northern Water Tribe, Omashu, Ba Sing Se. All powerhouses yet to bend to the Fire Nation. Zuko had spent his days thinking how to defeat them in as quick and bloodless manner as possible, but last night, a thought occurred to him. He wanted to end this war and immediately he assumed that meant the Fire Nation had to win, because he couldn’t even comprehend them being defeated, but what if that was the only way? It made sense as much as it didn’t. Zuko's nation had been blinded by hatred and pain; it wasn’t right for those things to win the war. But how could Zuko defend his people if they lost? 

A quiet voice whispered in his head. His insular family overthrown after a bloodline of anguish, an era of peace in their wake, a new Fire Lord, someone kind who made alliances with the other nations and much needed reparations. _The Avatar,_ the voice whispered, _is the bridge, the epitome of harmony._

 _Do you think we could have been friends?_

The Avatar wouldn’t leave the Fire Nation to the vengeance of the other nations. It would go against his nature. Fire was as important an element as the other three, and without it, balance fell. The Avatar would understand that. If Zuko could make some sort of agreement with him, if Zuko helped the kid overthrow his father, for the Fire Nation’s own good, then maybe... just maybe... 

No. Zuko couldn’t do that to his father. It was a stupid idea. He had to think of something else. 

“Zuko! I need your help.” Tomkin was suddenly at Zuko’s side again, accompanied by Nanook, who smiled knowingly at Tomkin’s flustered state. 

“What with?” Zuko asked, frowning. Tomkin wasn’t the type to be subtle, but now he looked almost... shy. 

“He’s spotted a pretty girl over there and is too much of a coward to go up to her.” Nanook explained simply, earning himself an elbow in the ribs and a hissed ‘shut _up_ ’. 

“Where?” Zuko asked, craning his head around. 

“Tui and La, you’re both useless!" Tomkin cried, quickly grabbing Zuko by the back of his neck and yanking his head back to them, like Zuko was being too obvious. He might have said something else, but Zuko’s breath had caught in his throat. The Water Tribesmen had been telling the truth when they said they found Gaoling too hot; Zuko could feel warmth fill him from every inch of Tomkin’s hand that pressed against his skin, spreading through his body, curling over his stuttering heart. Zuko quickly pushed the other boy away. Tomkin was too distracted to notice the sudden aggression. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Zuko said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rougher than usual. “Just go up to her.” 

Zuko finally spotted the girl in question, stood by a cake stall a few metres away. She was their age, with shoulder-length hair the colour of corn and a sweet, round face. She was soft where Mai had always been harsh, sunny where Mai had been dark. But just like Mai, Zuko felt nothing past a mundane acknowledgement. She was pretty. That was all. That had always been all. That was the problem. 

“Is that what you’d do?” Tomkin asked. 

Zuko frowned. “Why do you want to know what I'd do?” 

“Because,” Tomkin groaned, losing his fraying patience, “ _you_ have a girlfriend. We don’t. That means somehow you must have some hidden prowess. Very hidden. Like supremely hidden.” 

Zuko wasn’t sure if Mai was still his girlfriend, and had tried to say so much to Tomkin when he eventually told the other boy about her. After all, they’d been thirteen when they dated. It was hardly marriage, though their parents had plans. And he hadn’t said goodbye. He’d just... left. For three years, no letters. Zuko couldn’t face her. She’d always been so accusing. She always said the words he wasn’t ready to hear. He loved Mai, really. But it wasn’t the sort of love that was expected. 

_Prowess,_ Tomkin had said. Zuko almost laughed. He would have, if it didn’t hurt so much. Honey and cinnamon. Fire lilies, and then fire. _They won’t catch us_. Tea stained fingers. _It's worth it._

It wasn’t. 

“Stop being a baby and talk to her." Zuko finally snarled, perhaps a little too aggressively. “It’s easy.” 

And it was easy. It was so, so easy for Tomkin, and he didn’t even realise. 

Tomkin braved a look over his shoulder. The girl was giggling with her friend about something, before her doe eyes looked up, connecting with Tomkin’s. 

“Oh fuck. Oh shit.” Tomkin breathed, freezing in place. The girl smiled, friendly, before she flicked her eyes over to first Nanook, and then Zuko. 

Zuko didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly hadn’t expected her features to melt into appreciation, gaze steadying over his scar, his physique, resting over his arms a moment. 

Then she waved. 

Then she waved _at Zuko_. Not Tomkin. It was glaringly obvious. 

Tomkin’s scowl was murderous when Zuko awkwardly waved back. The girl turned and went about her day again, and Zuko was pretty sure he’d be able to feel Tomkin’s anger from the other side of the market. 

Shit. 

“Real nice, dude." Tomkin growled, and the next thing Zuko knew, the Water Tribe boy was storming off, leaving Zuko staring after him, stuttering in surprise. 

“What was I _supposed_ to do?” Zuko asked, bewildered as he turned to Nanook. 

Nanook shrugged. “I mean, probably not wave back.” He chuckled, before his small smile fell. He must have seen Zuko’s genuinely troubled expression. Tomkin and Nanook had taken Zuko’s heritage and glaring and had still decided to treat him as a friend. He had wanted so desperately to let them in. He'd never had friends of his own before; Father wouldn’t allow it. Friends were distracting. Now, Zuko was finally being given a chance to indulge in some semblance of what other teenagers called normal, and at the first hurdle, Zuko had hurt Tomkin’s feelings. He hadn’t even meant to. But he had. He’d tried to do something right and it just blew up in his face, like everything always did. 

Agni, why was he so bad at being good? 

“Hey, Zuko?” Nanook nudged Zuko lightly, making him blink and refocus on the Water Tribe boy who _hadn’t_ left him. Yet. “Little Tom’s a sensitive guy. He’ll get over it. It's not a big deal.” 

“He hates me.” Zuko stated, and Nanook scoffed. 

“No, he doesn’t. You're his friend. Friends don’t abandon each other after one little disagreement.” Nanook said casually, nonchalant enough for Zuko to actually relax a little. Nanook wasn’t acting like Tomkin had just cut all ties with Zuko. Maybe he was right. Maybe Tomkin would get over it, and just needed some time to cool off. 

_Friends don’t abandon each other after one little disagreement_. In that was a promise of permanence, a promise that this peculiar occurrence of Zuko finding himself between Tomkin and Nanook was going to become normal, a promise that Zuko’s friends were going to stay with him. 

He'd never had that before, so he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel, but the next thing he knew, he was smiling at Nanook. 

“We ought to go after him.” Zuko said, because that was what friends did. 

Nanook quirked an eyebrow. “Race you home.” 

They ran, and Zuko knew exactly where he was going, because he was beginning to understand that with a crew who travelled as much as the Southern Water Tribe warriors, _home_ was simply wherever the crew were. 

And Zuko was a Fire Nation royal who shouldn’t even be here, but he was starting to think of them a little as _home_ too. 

____ 

Amur had readied his boat. Amur had waited in it. Amur had followed the Water Tribe ship when it left. Amur had kept a good distance. Amur hadn’t been suspicious. Amur had done everything the Colonel had asked of him. 

But now as he was tying up his small fishing boat, hidden away on a small pier around the corner from where the Water Tribe ship had docked in Gaoling, Amur felt himself pause. He looked at his hull; recently fixed. He remembered the threat of drowning, said so casually in front of his little Kyo. Amur was a fisherman, and not a very successful one. His meagre wage combined with his wife’s earnings as a seamstress kept their family alive, but nothing more. If the ocean took Amur away, he knew his family would not survive. Following the Colonel’s orders hadn’t been a choice. He wouldn’t abandon his family. 

He didn’t care about what the Colonel might want with this unsuspecting Water Tribe crew. Part of him worried she might hurt them – she was certainly cold enough to – but he wasn’t an honourable enough man to try and put a stop to it. This was none of his business. His task was simple. Follow them and report back to the Colonel when they stopped. 

Well, they had stopped, so what was he waiting for? 

That was one answer he did have. 

He simply, irrefutably did not want to have to face the Colonel again. 

She terrified him. Her hard green eyes, steady hands, deadly words. Amur knew he couldn’t _not_ contact her, because not only would that oppose her, which sent shivers down his spine to even consider, but it would leave her in Weihai, near his family, for longer than necessary. 

Just as Amur was in the midst of desperately procrastinating what he knew had to be done, he spotted two Earth Kingdom soldiers. He was stood on a partially falling apart pier, his boat the only one tied to it, and the soldiers were clearly taking a break, smoke curling above their heads as they lit cigarettes. 

Amur set off towards them immediately. That woman in Weihai was an Earth Kingdom Colonel, and clearly a well-respected one. These men would have to report to her in some way. They could send word. They could rinse Amur’s hands of all this. 

“Excuse me?” Amur asked, and the two soldiers turned to look disapprovingly at him. They were both taller than him, and significantly bigger in the finery of even such basic military uniform. Still, after Amur’s encounter with the Colonel, these men seemed easy. 

“What?” One asked, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette and rudely blowing smoke in Amur’s face. Amur pointedly didn’t cough or lose his temper. 

“I was told by one of your Colonels to follow the Water Tribe ship that’s docked around the corner from here.” Amur said. “Would you be able to send word to Weihai, informing her that they’re here?” 

“Which Colonel?” The less-rude soldier asked, his hair a fiery auburn. 

“She didn’t give me her name. But she’s tall, got black hair, pretty terrifying-.” 

The rude soldier coughed suddenly around his cigarette. “Tovah?” He winced, and Amur shrugged. 

The soldier donned a fearful look, and Amur guessed that meant they were thinking of the same woman. 

“She’s the one who came in from Ba Sing Se, right?” The other soldier asked, and his friend nodded. 

“Appeared on the scene out of nowhere with a glowing resume and not a bastard in sight willing to test her.” The rude soldier said grimly. “What’s she doing in these parts?” 

Amur had no idea. He just wanted to get home and away from all of this as quickly as possible. 

“Will you send word?” Amur asked almost desperately. 

The soldier crushed his cigarette beneath his black combat boot. “It’s Colonel Tovah.” He said. “If she wants us to send word, you can bet your ass we’re sending word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMKIN NO HE’S GAY YOU’VE GOT IT ALL WRONG TOMKIN PLEASE COME BACK HE’S VERY VERY GAY.  
> .  
> Oh baby we’re in Gaoling bruh the shit that this place sees COR BLIMEY. Also that earth kingdom girl really looked at Zuko’s muscly arms and went ‘this is MY hot girl summer’ and she got so excited that she didn’t even see the rat tail on his head. Like okay baby you do you I guess everyone has a type??? Weirdo. And zuko having the biggest gay panic in front of a RAINBOW of ribbons? Idk man sounds iconic to me. As for those two soldiers at the end – in my notes they’re just called Gingie and Lung Cancer I'm not sorry – they are SO stupid. Anyways we’re in the last stretch of part 1. The countdown has started kiddos. 4 chapters.


	16. i. Prickly and Priss; The Start Of A Beautiful Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hola ninos how's it hanging, imagine this fic having 50,000 hits. lol. just a thought. imagine. hypothetically speaking. wild.
> 
> anyway, here's another chapter and oh BOY is shit starting to hit the fan. this one's a fucking rollercoaster because we've got angst at the start then a comedy break and then drama at the end. so like, rip my mental stability i guess. she will be missed <3
> 
> also, another chapter without Tovah? sinful, i know. i miss her too, but you have to admit watching her show up BRIEFLY and immediately making it so all these idiot men are STILL doing her bidding two chapters later is so iconic of her. or at least the idiot men WERE doing her bidding until some *side eyes gingie and lung cancer* decided to be quirky and go off the rails.
> 
> you should check out my tumblr (no i will NOT link it i don't have the strength, it's the same as my ao3 name or just go back a chapter and see where i linked it there?? lazy bitch??? (but like pls check it out👉👈))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hakoda and Zuko have The Talk. it gets angsty. i want to give zuko a hug as usual but he is deftly refusing all forms of affection right now like the crackhead he is. don't worry we'll get through to him one day. Also, i didn't think we'd had enough Uncle Kanut recently, so here you go. Fun fact (if you're following me on tumblr, you'll already know this, but i have to share it on here too.) = okay so i was writing this chapter and kanut called Zuko his first name like just ‘zuko’ casually and i wrote it and just.... froze. and i couldn’t figure out why that floored me so much. and then i was like, ‘oh yeah, kanut usually just calls zuko ‘tough guy’ or other dumb nicknames’. but then i was like..... has Kanut EVER just called him zuko before? like SURELY he has to have done? i checked. We're now at 102,000 words, not once has Kanut called him anything other than a dumb fucking nickname. i hate him so much.  
> .  
> .  
> countdown wise; 3 chapters babey. be scared. be prepared.

Nanook was hovering, which was exactly what Nanook did when something was wrong. 

“Sit down, Nan.” Hakoda sighed, shuffling his papers to the side. His tent was bigger than the others in order to fit a small table for his work. They’d made camp in Gaoling and the official plan was that they’d stay a few days. The unofficial plan was that the Chief was exhausted after several moral dilemmas in a short timespan, and would be staying here until Bato got his shit together. 

So, Hakoda’s tent had a desk, and he was getting comfortable, just reading over Fong’s latest letter with a surge of pride – _Your cooperation regarding the Fire Prince is much obliged. I hope my gratitude is illustrated in any Earth Kingdom port you may dock at, where you can be sure to find supplies. Sincerely, General Fong_ – when Nanook came in. The young crewman had tried small talk for a few minutes, but it was clear something was bothering him. 

“Sorry if you’re busy.” Nanook said as he collapsed into a chair. “It might be nothing.” 

“What’s this about?” Hakoda asked, listening intently. Nanook was responsible when he needed to be, and he didn’t make a fuss over nothing. 

“Just something that happened in the market today, with Zuko...” Nanook trailed off, staring at the table before him as he got lost in his thoughts, brows furrowing. 

Hakoda scoffed to hide his concern. “Nan, when it comes to that damned Fire Prince, I think we’ve all learnt it’s rarely nothing.” 

Nanook nodded solemnly, and Hakoda couldn’t help the worry creeping up his spine. Zuko’s past was a necropolis of trauma and fear and heartbreak, and it seemed every time Hakoda thought he’d heard the worst of it, he was forced to unbury more, dirt-stained hands trying dig out the boy choking beneath it all. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. 

“So, Little Tom saw this girl-.” 

Hakoda groaned loudly, the tension shattering. The last time Nanook started a sentence with that, it ended with ‘and now he’s in a Northern Water Tribe infirmary because he tried to be cool and lean against a balcony and ended up falling off it’. Hakoda already had two children of his own, but it seemed Zuko and Tomkin were determined to collaboratively manifest all the teenage chaos Hakoda was missing from Katara and Sokka. 

Nanook allowed a small smile. “Yeah, it was the usual.” He smirked. “He was too much of a coward to go up to her, so he asked Zuko for advice, and while we were all stood there, the girl noticed us. She waved. At Zuko.” 

Hakoda winced. He could see why that would be a problem. Tomkin was incredibly sensitive, and Hakoda knew him like he knew his own son. He wouldn’t have taken it well, and Hakoda already knew that Zuko’s ridiculous upbringing of formality and manners would have caused him to wave back without hesitation. Which Tomkin also wouldn’t have taken well. 

“Listen, Nan,” Hakoda pointed a teasing finger, “if you three want to talk about your love life, I do _not_ want to hear it. If I accommodate you, next thing I know, I'll have Tomkin talking my ear off about every girl that takes his fancy. Bato will be back soon. Until then, ask Tulok.” 

Hakoda expected Nanook to laugh, to nod in defeat and go find the other warrior as Hakoda had suggested, but he didn’t. His small smile fell, as if remembering why he was here, and Hakoda’s worry slipped from his spine to weave between his ribs. There was something else. 

“Has Zuko ever talked to you about girls?” Nanook finally blurted out, and Hakoda blinked in surprise. 

“Um, no.” Hakoda said dumbly, because even the thought of Zuko idly chatting about normal teenage things was, unjustly, hard to conceive. “That’s not really the kind of thing we talk about.” 

“It’s just... he was acting really weird the entire time it happened, and at first I thought it was because he’d upset Tomkin.” Nanook said, wringing his hands. “You know Zuko; he makes one mistake and thinks it’s the end of the world. But I keep thinking about it and some of the other things he’s said these past four weeks, and I just think it was something else, something he’s not telling anyone.” 

Hakoda knew he was supposed to fill in the blanks, that Nanook was waiting for him to somehow figure out what it was he was getting at, but he honestly had no idea what they were talking about anymore. There was a reason Hakoda always pushed the personal lives of his crew towards Bato. He just wasn’t good with things like this. War he knew, pain he knew, but this gushy, mundane in-between made him awkward and unsure. 

Nanook groaned, like Hakoda was being deliberately slow. “I don’t think Zuko likes girls.” 

Oh. 

Hakoda couldn’t help but feel relieved, leaning back in his chair and glaring at Nanook. “Is that it?” He said, before his face fell, tone becoming a snarl he’d never used with Nanook before. “Is that a _problem?_ ” 

“Wait, what?” Nanook asked, confused. “No, of course not. That's not what I'm-.” Nanook rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face. ”Hakoda, can you at least pretend to pay attention when I talk? Honestly.” 

Nanook leaned forward, the bead in his hair swinging beside his jaw. “I don’t think Zuko likes girls.” He repeated slowly. “I don’t have a problem with that. I think, however, that _he does._ ” 

Hakoda didn’t know how to respond to that. 

He’d grown up in a community where every member was valued and loved. It was what made them Water Tribe. Besides, Hakoda was the Chief. He knew his men. He knew when they used to go on hunting trips for weeks at a time that some would miss their wives and find warmth in another man’s hammock. He knew some never had wives to begin with, because they weren’t inclined that way. He knew it was okay. It was normal. And more than anything, it wasn’t his business. If his crewmen found happiness in women, or men, or neither, or other, then it didn’t matter to him, as long as his crewmen found happiness. 

He knew the Earth Kingdom were generally of the same mind, if only being a little more prude about it, as was their nature. But Hakoda didn’t know anything about the Fire Nation’s stance. It wasn’t the sort of thing he needed to know when making strategies. He realised now that it would be very in-character for this kind of thing, the kind that’s out of any individual’s control, the kind that could make or break someone’s happiness, to be frowned upon in the Fire Nation. 

And Zuko was the _Prince_. 

Once again, Hakoda was caught in the agonising dichotomy of wanting to know exactly what Ozai had done to Zuko, while simultaneously fearing finding out. 

“I’ll talk to him.” Hakoda said sternly, and Nanook nodded gratefully. 

This was going to be a very uncomfortable conversation. 

____ 

Oro and Renmin had been working as foot soldiers in His Majesty’s army for four years now. For Renmin, this was enough. He was happy to live his days quietly patrolling Gaoling, ensuring the rich citizens slept soundly at night, stomping down on petty crime. Oro, however, had been wanting a promotion for months. He wanted to move up the ranks, climb the ladder, become a Colonel. Spirits, maybe even a General. He could do it. He was good enough. He knew he was. He just needed a chance. 

And suddenly, he’d been handed one by an unassuming fisherman who had no idea what he’d just given up. 

“You want to _what?_ " Renmin hissed, his auburn hair twirling in the breeze. They were stood in the treeline, looking out onto the beach where the Water Tribe had made camp, hidden in the foliage. Oro saw two larger warriors sparring with wild grins, saw a white-haired man shout at them for disrupting where he read beside a campfire, saw a small boy with a strange ponytail skipping pebbles over the ocean, talking enigmatically to another boy beside him who had a bead in his hair. These warriors were impressive, intimidating. If they caught them, Oro and Renmin were done for. 

“Oro, you said we’d just keep an eye on them until she gets here.” Renmin hissed when Oro showed no sign of responding. They'd sent a letter to Colonel Tovah before the fisherman even left Gaoling, attached to the fastest falcon they had. If it was going to Weihai, it would only take a few hours. Sure enough, before the sun even began to set, Oro and Renmin had received a response from a particularly impressive falcon that wasn’t theirs. Oro suspected Colonel Tovah sent it to be purposely domineering, though Renmin said he was overthinking it. 

Her response was short. 

_I will be in Gaoling by midnight. Do not lose the Water Tribe until then. Consider this a mission of upmost importance. The warriors have something General Fong wants._

No honorifics, no suggestion that Oro and Renmin might have other duties to attend to, no room for negotiation. Colonel Tovah was everything Oro had heard and more, and he hated her. 

He didn’t, however, hate General Fong. He'd heard great things about the General, about his ruthless strategies, his prestige amongst the army. If Oro impressed General Fong, he could be almost certain of a promotion. 

He had until midnight to take this chance before Tovah did. 

“Oro, I don’t want Colonel Tovah as an enemy. I heard she was Long Feng’s right-hand woman in Ba Sing Se. You know, Long Feng, the head of the Dai Li? The _Dai Li_ , Oro. I don’t want to be on their bad side-.” 

“Would you shut up?” Oro snarled. He needed a cigarette. If the smoke weren’t so damning, he’d be lighting up to calm his nerves without hesitation. As it was, he was stuck with the sack of anxiety that was Renmin. 

Oro had just sighed in frustration when his green eyes locked on another warrior. 

This one was different from the others as he came to sit beside the campfire, talking to the warrior that had been reading, a smile ghosting his lips. Oro had thought he looked slightly peculiar, drawn to the horrific scar covering his left eye, but sat next to the other Water Tribe warrior, it became obvious. The boy’s skin was deathly pale, his hair black as pitch and styled in a foreign ponytail. The warrior beside him couldn’t look any different with his white hair and brown skin. Oro knew the boy was probably the result of some Water Tribesman getting with a colonial, or maybe he was just born with unlucky genetics. Those were excuses the townspeople would give him, looking at his blue ribbon and Water Tribe attire, but Oro wasn’t so sure. 

_The warriors have something General Fong wants._

Something wasn’t adding up here. 

“See the one going into that big tent?” Oro whispered, nodding towards one of the younger warriors, the one with a bead in his hair, who was subtly ducking into the largest tent in the camp. 

“Yeah?” Renmin asked, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. 

“I think that’s the Chief’s tent. If we’re gonna hear anything about what Tovah wants from these guys, we’ll hear it from in there.” Oro nodded firmly, proud of his little plan. 

Renmin didn’t look so impressed. “How the fuck do we get into the Water Tribe Chief’s tent?” 

Oro rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. Look, it’s right by the treeline. We'll go up behind it and listen in.” 

Renmin frowned, following Oro’s gaze. “I don’t like this, Oro.” 

“Then stay here.” Oro sniped, before slowly sneaking through the shrubbery, careful not to break any twigs. For a few moments, he was alone with nothing but the sounds of the fauna around him and the oblivious Water Tribe warriors beside him for company, but then Renmin was there again, swearing beneath his breath. They stopped as close to the Chief’s tent as they could, ears pressed to the tarp, completely hidden from the rest of the tribe. 

“... trying to give Aput brain damage.” 

Oro heard a voice say, tone light. It was followed by a deep chuckle, clearly from someone older. The Chief. 

“That’s Chena for you.” 

Renmin was looking at Oro, green gaze smug. He didn’t say anything, but they’d been working together long another for Oro to understand his thoughts. _See, nothing's happening._

But then; “Sit down, Nan.” 

The Chief, sounding concerned, more serious than before. 

“Sorry if you’re busy. It might be nothing.” 

_Please, don’t be nothing_ , Oro found himself praying. He couldn’t do another four years as a foot soldier, couldn’t live his life smoking on the pier, couldn’t waste any more opportunities. 

“What’s this about?” 

“Just something that happened in the market today, with Zuko...” 

Oro frowned. Zuko was not a Water Tribe name. It sounded familiar... 

“Nan, when it comes to that damned Fire Prince, I think we’ve all learnt it’s rarely nothing.” 

Renmin nearly fell onto the tent, and Oro had to clasp a hand to the other man’s mouth to silence his gasp of horror. Oro had stopped breathing. King Kuei’s crown, this was... this was insane. This wasn’t real, wasn’t happening. 

The Fire Prince. Prince Zuko. Of the Fire Nation. 

“Let’s go.” Oro choked out. Renmin didn’t need to be told twice. 

Oro needed a damn cigarette. 

____ 

“Go talk to him.” 

“And say what?” 

“Fuck if I know, tough guy.” Kanut grumbled, tired of this conversation before it even started. “You’re the one who was raised in a palace. Shouldn't you be a professional at speeches and shit like that?” 

Zuko was many things, but good at communicating was certainly not one of them, and Kanut seemed to remember this as soon as the words left his mouth, because he snorted at the downcast look on Zuko’s face. 

“It’s not funny.” Zuko mumbled, kicking one of the campfire’s logs in frustration. “What if he never talks to me again?” 

“Then you’ll achieve something that’s never been done before.” Kanut said, grinning. “Seriously, if you get Little Tom to shut up, you’ll go down in history.” 

Zuko allowed a small smile, sighing. The whole situation was awkward and unknown for Zuko. Nanook had gone to where Tomkin was moodily stood by the sea – Zuko didn’t comment on the fact that Tomkin was quite clearly brooding – with the promise of trying to talk him round, and had since disappeared, which Zuko took to mean Tomkin was refusing to be talked round. 

“Tui and La,” Kanut finally huffed, “if you’re not going to stop harassing me about this, then you could at least go make some tea.” 

“I didn’t even say anything-!” 

“Don’t need to. I can practically hear your stupid little brain overthinking it.” Kanut said. Zuko opened his mouth to argue, but Kanut just flicked his fingers in his face rudely. “Tea. Now.” He ordered, like Zuko was some _waiter_ , and Zuko growled before stomping towards Kanut’s tent. 

The healer’s tent – or Angakkuq’s as Zuko was learning to say – looked as it did in the South Pole, just a little smaller and a lot less lived in. Kanut had his own cot in one corner, and then a second for if any of the warriors came in injured. Two chests were shoved beside the entrance, and there was even an animal pelt on the floor. Zuko hadn’t asked how long they planned to stay in Gaoling, but everyone seemed to be getting comfortable. 

Zuko pulled the necessary tools from Kanut’s chests and sat cross-legged on the floor to make the tea. Kanut had this one weird cloudberry blend that he’d stocked up on before they left the South Pole. Uncle had never forced this one on Zuko before, but he had to admit it was nice. Amber coloured and tasting a little of maple syrup, like what Zuko used to have over desserts in Caldera. It was strange how a tea from Kanut’s home reminded Zuko a little of his. 

The kettle was already full of water, and Zuko knew he was supposed to take the blend, cups and kettle outside to the campfire, but Kanut _always_ scorched the tea leaves, and Zuko... well, Zuko had been thinking. 

Firebending wasn’t off the table like it used to be. He hadn’t stopped firebending - withholding his breath of fire, raising and lowering alien flames when no one was watching, spitting sparks when his temper got the best of him – and reading Kanut’s book that he was yet to notice was missing was helping Zuko refamiliarize himself with his katas, but still, this was the longest Zuko had gone without any _proper_ bending. Even redirecting that lightning felt like it didn’t quite count, because it was so strange, so foreign. 

Zuko missed fire. 

He was alone. The others were outside. Hakoda was working in his tent. 

Heating tea was a servant’s trick, one Uncle never should have known but taught Zuko nonetheless. _Too hot and you will scorch the leaves, making the tea bitter,_ Uncle Iroh had said, _but leave it to steep too long, and it’ll scorch anyway. Good tea needs a lower temperature and a softer flame. It needs patience and care._

Zuko’s loud sigh filled the tent, knowing he’d probably responded with something surly and petulant. And Uncle probably still smiled affectionately, like Zuko could do no wrong, like Zuko wasn’t an honourless failure, like _he loved him._

With one last glance at the tent’s entrance, ensuring he was hidden, Zuko wrapped his fingers around the kettle and patiently, carefully, began to heat his hands. 

Which was exactly when Hakoda came in. 

“Zuko, Kanut said you were in here-.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Zuko yelled, jumping to his feet and almost dropping the kettle in the process. Hakoda blinked in surprise, his large form taking up the entire entrance. He looked between Zuko and the kettle, realisation dawning. Once, Zuko would have been terrified. Now, he felt mildly annoyed. He didn’t even get any flames out before he had to stop. 

“Were you heating the tea?” Hakoda asked with the same trying-not-to-smile tone he’d used when asking if Zuko was drunk. 

“No.” Zuko mumbled, surly and petulant. 

“Zuko?” Hakoda pressed, lips twitching. 

Zuko growled in frustration “Yes.” He put the lukewarm kettle on the floor again, picking up the glass jar of tea leaves in order to tidy up. “It’s not even proper firebending though, and-.” 

“Why is it that whenever I catch you, it’s never ‘proper firebending’?” Hakoda asked, and Zuko paused, tea leaves still in hand. Hakoda had been joking, but it made an idea begin to form in Zuko’s mind. It was less an idea, seeing as he’d been pondering it for four weeks now, and more an opportunity. Four weeks ago, he never would have dreamed of suggesting this. But now, things were very different, and while Zuko was wary of being shot down, he was at least brave enough to try. 

“Katas are proper firebending.” He said quietly, observing Hakoda, watching how the Chief jerked up a curious eyebrow. 

“Oh?” Hakoda asked, before his expression pulled in understanding. “Well, we’re not on the boat anymore, you know.” 

Zuko’s heartrate spiked, daring to hope. 

“If you stay on the beach but keep away from the tents-.” 

“Yes! Of course! Thank you!” Zuko exclaimed, grinning wildly before he even realised how ridiculous he looked, quickly trying to compose himself. He cleared his throat. “That would be... fine.” 

Hakoda scoffed, and Zuko went to duck out the tent before Hakoda spoke again. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, Zuko.” Hakoda said, tone serious, and Zuko’s stomach dropped. He'd known it was too good to be true. Had he been tricked? But this was _Hakoda_. Surely not... 

Hakoda gestured to the pelt on the floor. “Perhaps we should sit?” 

The Chief sat down first, which relaxed Zuko a little. For a moment, he glanced at the now clear entrance, feeling the salty breeze drifting by, but he knew better. 

Zuko sat down with Hakoda. 

____ 

It was quiet for a few seconds as Hakoda desperately tried to figure out what to say. He knew he was making Zuko nervous, was painfully aware of how the teenage boy was passing the jar of tea leaves between his hands to hide his anxiety, but Hakoda didn’t know how to begin this. Zuko’s sexuality was none of his business. How Zuko _felt_ about his sexuality, however, was something Hakoda cared about. Just like how knowing the cause of Zuko’s scar had helped Hakoda temper his approach to better suit the boy, Hakoda needed to know this, needed to know if Ozai had burned even more, had forbidden his son the most basic of human necessities. 

Hakoda decided to be blunt. 

“Zuko, are the Fire Nation homophobic?” Hakoda asked, and Zuko froze. He stopped moving, stopped breathing. He didn’t even blink. His eyes were trained on Hakoda’s face. It was familiar, because Zuko was looking for something, a catch, waiting for Hakoda to be angry, but it was also unfamiliar, because at least now, Zuko knew Hakoda wouldn’t hurt him simply for holding eye contact. He just... stared, eyes narrowed and gold. Hakoda had always thought those eyes to be infernos. He wondered when he started equating gold to honey instead. 

And then, with the monotony of practise, the smoothness of this being a fact he’d had drilled into him for a very long time, Zuko said; “Homosexuality is illegal in the Fire Nation.” 

Hakoda choked, feeling suddenly like he was drowning. 

____ 

There were certain things Zuko had learned never to speak about. These were different to the things Zuko had learned he didn’t like speaking about. He didn’t _like_ speaking about his scar. He didn’t _like_ speaking about Mother. But then there were other things, things that had steady hands and tasted of cinnamon, that he knew never to speak about. Not a word, not an utterance, not a glance in the wrong direction. These things were not to be considered. 

He’d considered them once, just before his thirteenth birthday, enacted the thoughts that had plagued him for months. There’d been a tea server at the palace who managed to get his young son a job beside him. The son’s name was Mizu. These days, Zuko refused to think about him, shoving Mizu deep down whenever he caught the scent of cinnamon or saw his smooth jaw in the curve of his dual swords. That boy had been nothing but a curse, and the incantation lay in ugly scars down Zuko’s leg. 

“What do you mean, illegal?” Hakoda spluttered, blue eyes horrified. 

Zuko kept his chi centred, breathing slowly. He wouldn’t speak about this. Not to Hakoda. Not to Uncle. Not to anyone ever again. This was one lesson he’d actually learned. 

“I mean that anyone caught fornicating with someone of the same gender will be imprisoned. Sozin outlawed it, and it’s been illegal ever since.” Zuko said calmly, coldly. He'd studied that law, his tutor glaring at him over the rims of his glasses. He'd studied dates, locations, and he’d also studied the cases of those who fought against the law. And they were ‘cases’, because they were all executed for it. Of course, his tutor hadn’t used that word. These cases were given life imprisonment, where everyone would know of their crime. It was the same as an execution. The Fire Nation were... _intolerant._

“Why do you ask?” Zuko kept his posture rigid. There was actually a strange easiness in this topic. It was so ingrained within him not to speak about it that at least he didn’t have any dilemma. It didn’t matter that this was Hakoda, just like it hadn’t mattered with Uncle. Zuko could be under any circumstances, and he’d still know not to speak about this. It was simple, in that sense. 

Hakoda still looked shellshocked. “How can love be illegal? That's... that’s barbaric.” 

At least it had been simple, until Zuko realised that the Water Tribe didn’t seem to share his beliefs. 

“Barbaric.” Zuko echoed, dazed, before frowning. He wouldn’t be swayed, not on this. He set his features. 

“Why do you ask?” Zuko said again, sterner this time. 

Hakoda took a deep breath. “Zuko...” He started slowly, clearly struggling. “I need you to know that... that here, with us, it’s completely normal to... for someone to feel inclined that way. The heart wants what it wants, kid, and it should never, ever be persecuted for that. Love is love. Always has been, always will be.” And here, Hakoda’s blue eyes hardened. “Regardless of if your father might have said otherwise.” 

_Your father_. Zuko remembered Father’s golden gaze, that spark of hatred that Zuko lacked. Zuko remembered being in the throne room, kneeling though not knowing why he was there, why all the guards had been sent away, why even Azula was absent. Fire coiling into a whip, snaking up his leg. _Cry and I’ll kill him_. So instead of crying, Zuko burned. 

No. 

Zuko wouldn’t speak about this. 

“You know nothing,” Zuko hissed, because Hakoda clearly wasn’t going to let this go without force, “about my father.” 

Hakoda flinched, surprised by the sudden malice in Zuko’s tone, but didn’t back off. Agni, why couldn’t he just back off? Why couldn’t he let this go? 

“A father is someone who cares about you, Zuko.” Hakoda said, slowly reaching out, fingers wrapping around Zuko’s wrist, holding him but not in a way that would bruise, not in a way Zuko recognised. “Someone by your side, not ahead. Someone who listens. Someone who loves you as you are, unconditionally, without expecting something in return.” 

And Zuko felt how he did in the South Pole, when he’d sobbed into Hakoda’s anorak like a child. He felt cornered. Because Hakoda wasn’t lying this time. He was right; that was everything a father should be. But that wasn’t what Ozai was. If that was the description, then it was more akin to Hakoda than Ozai. Hakoda, who grinned and joked but never to the point it made Zuko uncomfortable. Hakoda, who always walked by his side without a second thought. Hakoda, who had heard a story Zuko had never told anyone before, and held him together when Zuko shattered. Hakoda, who offered his trust, his crew, his safety, and expected nothing in return. 

This man who was not his father had been more a father to Zuko in four weeks than Ozai had in sixteen years, and that realisation tore through Zuko, more agonising than a lightning bolt. And he was speaking from experience. 

Zuko yanked his wrist away, standing hurriedly enough that he forgot the tea leaves in his hands, and he heard them, distantly, shatter to the floor around his feet. 

“You,” Zuko snarled, throat tight as he glared down at Hakoda, “are _not_ my father.” 

He stormed out of the tent, past the campfire and the warriors and the Ullaakut, and he walked until he couldn’t hear the camp behind him anymore, walked until he was at the crest of the hill overlooking Gaoling. He hesitated, panting with the suddenness of it all. Behind him, he saw the Water Tribe camp. Everything was always blue with them. Their blue tents, blue outfits, even the blue sails of the Ullaakut. Zuko could see it all from up here. And they weren’t just a nondescript group of strangers, spotted from a distance, acknowledged with bored curiosity and then forgotten. No. They were the Southern Water Tribe warriors. Zuko knew their quirks and humour and customs. He knew Aput made ridiculously good five-flavour-soup and Chena loved holding Miki even if it broke his heart a little. He knew Kanut touched the scars on his hands whenever Chena shouted too loud and Tulok’s favourite pastime was when the others gathered around the fire and simply _talked_. He knew Tomkin stared at the moon sometimes because it made him think of his parents and Nanook had a birthmark between his thumb and forefinger that he insisted was in the shape of a wave, though Tomkin had named it Splodge. He knew Hakoda was a brilliant Chief, but he doubted himself. He ruled over his ship fairly and with compassion, and he cared about each of his men. Zuko knew at some point, for whatever reason, that had started to include him. 

And he knew thinking all this made his heart ache, made it twist within him and want to hide deep, deep down, where the shadows were too dense to ever be taunted with this brightness ever again. Because Zuko knew he’d have to go back soon, go _home_. He knew he’d return to the dark corners of Caldera Palace where he'd felt utterly snuffed out, or the hollow cabins of the Erlong that could never quite kindle hope. 

Being alone in the cold is horrible. Having a fire finally manage to catch, daring to hold your hands over it and feel that warmth seep in, only for it to be extinguished and the ice to attack you all over again, is unbearable. 

Zuko turned away from the Water Tribe and walked towards Gaoling. 

He needed to think. 

____ 

_Reasons Toph Beifong Is Better Than Master Yu:_

_\- Master Yu is a stupid dunderhead with subpar earthbending skills_

_\- Toph Beifong does not have a ridiculous beard_

_\- Master Yu thinks that ladies must be ‘couth’_

_\- Toph Beifong thus makes a point of being ‘uncouth’_

_\- This distresses Master Yu immensely_

“Are you even listening to me, Toph?” Master Yu groaned, rudely interrupting Toph’s mental list. They were in the courtyard of the obnoxiously large Beifong estate, going over earthbending basics. They were always going over basics. All footwork and positioning, yadda, yadda, yadda. The badgermoles taught Toph these moves _years_ ago, for Spirits sake. 

“Not even a little bit." Toph responded, grinning. She hardly paid attention to Yu’s dulcet tones at the best of times, but when her sessions with him began to draw to a close, she could barely contain her excitement. As soon as he left her alone, she’d leave - sorry, _retire_ \- and then earthbend out of the estate while everyone thought she was tucked away in bed. They'd sleep soundly thinking their fragile little girl was safe. 

In actual fact, she’d be going to an underground fighting ring full of grown men and fierce gambling. Ah, the charms of the humble Earth Rumble VI. Her parents would despair if they found out. That was part of the fun. 

Finally, Yu gave up trying to get Toph to cooperate. She felt the shift of weight signifying his hand lifting to rub his face exasperatedly, but by then, she was already hitching up her skirts – sorry, _delicately avoiding muddying them_ – and running inside, quickly saying goodnight to her parents in the most unsuspicious way she could manage. According to their heartrates, they hadn’t noticed anything. They never did. They saw Toph Beifong. They never saw _Toph_. 

Toph snickered excitedly to herself as she fumbled her clothes, getting into more appropriate attire. And by appropriate, she really meant not appropriate at all. Her mother would faint if she saw this get up. No unnecessary frills, no expensive material that itched, and no stupid, dainty accessories aside her trusty headband. Seriously, accessories? What idiot even invented them? 

Satisfied, Toph opened a crater in her bedroom, hopped through, and just like that, she was off. 

The sixth reason Toph Beifong was better than Master Yu was this; Toph Beifong did not go to the pub _right across the street_ from the Earth Rumble when she finished her day. Now, this shouldn’t have been a problem; Toph could have just earthbended right on inside the arena. There was no reason for her to even breach the surface between her home and the Earth Rumble. No reason, aside the stupid metal wall forming the arena being buried deep, deep down. Even Toph couldn’t bend metal, which pissed her off to no end. She could bury down, but that wasted time and effort that she needed if she wanted to pummel the Boulder into the dirt again. She had to resort to climbing into a quiet alleyway, sneaking into the arena’s side entrance where Yu wouldn’t see her and, Koh forbid, tell her parents. 

Toph's feet were listening out for adults, particularly Master Yu’s stupid prancing. Her skills were fantastic, one could say unbeatable and easily the greatest of all time, but there was a chance, a slither of possibility, that she might not have been concentrating on the rest of her surroundings. She forgot that this particular alleyway was just shy of the market. She forgot that, just because Master Yu didn’t see her, it didn’t mean no one else did. 

“You’re an earthbender.” A voice said, male and impossibly raspy. Toph whirled on him. 

Her feet told her the stranger was a boy, young, with a solid stance that was rooted to the ground like he expected a fight, though his tone had been casual, which made exactly no sense. Unless of course, he recognised her. Oh no, he was going to _snitch_. 

“What’s it to you?” Toph sniped, ready to jump back into her crater at any given moment. 

She felt the boy shrug. “Nothing. You just seem a bit-.” 

“If you say young I'll throw a rock at your head.” 

The boy’s heart, that had been beating at a strange, sporadic pace anyway, skipped in surprise. Toph smirked, smug. The boy didn’t recognise her, that much was certain. She'd be able to tell by now. 

Which meant he was the first person her age she’d spoken to in a very, very long time. 

She might as well have some fun with it. 

“What’s your deal then, Sneaky?” Toph asked, and she snorted when the boy’s breathing hitched. 

“Did you just call me-?” 

“That’s what you get for sneaking up on a blind girl. What, you don’t like your nickname?” Toph tapped her chin in exaggerated consideration. “Maybe I should call you Prickly instead." 

He did seem awfully prickly, and Toph was rather proud of her new nickname. 

“Oh yeah, and what’s your name?” Prickly asked after a few seconds of stunned silence, and to Toph’s delight, she could sense an air of teasing to him now. He was playing ball. Not that Toph _cared_ if he did or not, it was just a bit of fun, from one kid to another. No biggie. She didn’t need friends. She had the Earth Rumble. That was enough. 

“I’m not telling.” Toph grinned. “It’s a secret.” 

Prickly contemplated that a moment, before deciding; “Priss.” 

“I am not!” Toph exclaimed, appalled. “I am the opposite of a priss. Take that back, Prickly!” 

“Or what?” Prickly goaded, arrogance filling his tone. 

Toph cracked her knuckles, scoffing. She was suddenly glad Master Yu had decided to choose the pub right across the street, forcing Toph to emerge right here at the same time as this boy. He was fun. 

Toph stomped her foot, feeling a pillar of earth jab out and smack into Prickly’s elbow. 

“Ow!” He yelled, more in surprise than pain. “You almost made me drop my tea leaves." 

“Tea leaves?" Toph repeated, cackling. “You don’t strike me as a tea kind of guy.” 

“I’m not.” Prickly mumbled, going a little quiet, heart thumping. “It’s... they’re not for me.” 

Toph had never felt anyone get so protective over tea leaves before. She could actually feel Prickly cradling the jar to his chest, probably eyeing her, ready to protect the leaves from any earthbending she might throw at him. As ridiculous as it was, Toph made a mental note to _not_ hit the tea leaves. 

“You’re not from around here, are you, Prickly?” Toph asked, changing the subject and getting to the dirty secrets she so loved pulling from people. It was clear from the get-go that Prickly wasn’t a local. Toph would have recognised him, for one, and he also lacked Gaoling’s stiffness. He was prickly, not stiff. There was a difference, and that difference was what saw Toph enjoying his company instead of throwing boulders at him. 

Prickly hesitated. “I’m with the Water Tribe. We're camped on the beach just over the hill.” He said, and his heart did a weird thing. It wasn’t a lie, but there was something strange there. Toph decided to shrug it off. Maybe Prickly was still paranoid about his tea leaves. 

So, a Water tribesman. That was pretty cool. Toph had never met one of them before. 

“And you?” Prickly asked. “What’re you doing out here?” 

He didn’t make the mistake many did. _What are you, a young, blind, helpless little girl, doing out here?_ But still, it was implied, and Toph didn’t appreciate that one bit. 

“I’m the greatest earthbender of all time. I do what I want.” Toph hissed, because if she said it enough, she might be free. 

“If you say so, Priss.” Prickly chuckled, and Toph was very close to punching him, earthbending be damned. 

“I am! I'm the champion of Earth Rumble VI!” Toph yelled, and that seemed to get Prickly’s attention. So, a lover of the violent arts. A man after Toph’s own heart. 

“I have a match tonight, you know.” Toph continued, calmer now, arrogant. “I could meet you after, though. Show you just how good an earthbender I am. I'm sure you’ve got some tricks up your sleeves, tea boy. What do you say?” 

He wanted to say no, she could tell, but his heart betrayed him, racing in excitement at the thought of sparring. Toph wondered if he was a waterbender. It didn’t matter, of course. She could take on anyone. 

Finally, the boy spoke up, and his tone was dripping with competitiveness. “You’re on, Priss.” 

____ 

Zuko realised the moment he got to the market that he’d probably been a little harsh back at camp. He'd yelled at Hakoda and stormed out, leaving without explanation. The sun was setting now, bathing the town in orange. The warriors would be worried about him. It was a strange fact to come to terms with, but while he still had no idea why, he knew indisputably that they would be. He was being selfish. 

He had a little money in his pocket from his earlier visit to the market with Tomkin and Nanook, and used it to buy some tea leaves. He felt awful; the cloudberry blend was specifically from the South Pole, and Zuko had broken it. He'd apologise to Kanut after he apologised to Hakoda, and then he would apologise to Tomkin. Agni, why did Zuko always do this? Everywhere he went, he left a trail of mistakes in his wake. 

He held the glass jar of tea leaves close as he walked through Gaoling, deep in thought. That was when he bumped into that girl. She'd been a strange sight, appearing from a hole in an alley that sealed shut as soon as she hopped out, a tiny thing. She couldn't have been older than twelve, and she was blind. Still, she talked like a soldier, ready and willing to fight. Zuko had never respected someone so quickly, and he’d liked her. It was odd, because she was rude and blunt and a risk, but he liked her. 

And now he was meeting her to spar after her tournament. 

Priss, as he now had no other option but to call her thanks to her infuriating anonymity, said she wouldn’t need much time to ‘knock some sense into those imbeciles’, and they’d agreed to meet in an hour in a clearing outside of town. Zuko decided to set off there already, having nothing better to do. Gaoling was quiet, too middle-class to have much of a nightlife, and that set Zuko on edge. The silence was deafening, choking him, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts and paranoia. When he heard two faint voices, he couldn’t help but latch onto them. 

Two Earth Kingdom soldiers stood in the shadows of an alcove, just shy of a main street. One had mussed auburn hair, eyes wide, head flicking in all directions but not noticing Zuko, because Zuko knew how to go unnoticed. The other was slightly bigger, with dark hair and crooked fingers holding a glowing cigarette. They spoke quietly, but if Zuko pressed himself against the wall, leaning as far as he dared, he could just about hear. 

“Oro, if this goes wrong-.” 

“But what if it goes _right_ , Renmin?” The one with the cigarette pressed, like he’d been having this conversation for a while. “Fong would love us. Spirits, he’d probably move us into his own unit. All we have to do is hand over a teenager.” 

“That _teenager_ ,” the auburn haired one hissed, “is the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.” 

Zuko had been sneaking around too long to give himself away to something as mundane as a gasp, but it came close. His lungs stuttered over his breaths, heart freezing, then skipping, then racing at a pace that thundered in his ears. These two soldiers knew who he was, and they wanted to give him to General Fong. But... but Hakoda had said he was safe. Had he lied? 

No, Zuko trusted Hakoda more than that. Fong had lied to Hakoda, had pretended to believe the Chief. He’d known all along that Zuko was still with the Water Tribe. 

“He won’t see us coming. We'll go tonight, before Tovah gets here." The one with the cigarette, Oro, whispered, tone urgent and excited in equal measures. “We sneak into their camp, grab the Prince, and go.” 

“They’re not just going to let us have him, Oro.” Renmin whispered, raking a hand through his hair in stress. “They kept him for a reason; he’s the best bartering tool against the Fire Nation anyone’s had in a hundred years.” 

That... was not an achievement Zuko was expecting anytime soon, but he supposed it was fair. To those as naïve about the Fire Lord as these soldiers and clearly Fong, Zuko was a political miracle. It was why the Water Tribe kept him at first, but these soldiers were wrong, because it wasn’t why the Water Tribe kept him now. 

Fong thought Hakoda had betrayed him in order to withhold a simple bartering tool. Their alliance that had been so shaky was about to crumble all over again. 

“We’re both earthbenders.” Oro said, raising a malicious eyebrow. “If they make so much as a peep,” his lips curled up evilly, his fingers gesturing something tumbling down, “we'll just bury their little camp." 

This time, Zuko had to clasp his hand to his mouth to stop from giving himself away. He needed to swear, and shout, and tell these men to stay far, far away from the Water Tribe camp. But he was unarmed in the middle of Gaoling. He couldn’t firebend here. His options were very, very limited. 

He could either run now and live, slip out of Gaoling in the setting sun, leaving the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe to fight it out over a Fire Prince that wasn’t even there. He could go find Uncle, restart his search for the Avatar. He could pretend these past four weeks had never happened. 

Or, he could go back to the camp and find something to fight with, ready himself, and meet the two soldiers in the middle before they ever got the chance to hurt the warriors. 

Run or stay. 

Live or die. 

Zuko sighed, and as the sun slipped beneath the horizon entirely, he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOPH BEIFONG! TOPH BEIFONG! TOPH BEIFONG! maybe i imprinted on her as a child and that's why i am the way that i am, what about it. also gingie and lung cancer, PLEASE stick to the script. tovah is gonna be so, so pissed off. can't wait. hope she buries THEM see how THEY like it.  
> .  
> also did this bitch just say dai li? hmmmmm


	17. i. All You Have Is Your Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listen i just rediscovered friday night dinner and i am absolutely thriving don't talk to me unless you greet me with 'hello bambino' so help me god. also the countdown is down to *checks watch* *reads the directory of the sun* *fuckin measures the earth's rotation? idfk i literally barely passed my physics gcse* yep 2 chapters my respective bitches and bros. i also hereby cancel Gingie and Lung Cancer; i liked them at first but they are way meaner than i expected and they can politely jump in conjoined blenders for all i care :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d like to start by saying I'm a colossal idiot and put a whole section in a word doc to copy and paste regarding recent fanart and shit, but did I remember to add it to chapter 16’s author’s notes? No i did not. I am STUPID and SORRY. Go see my tumblr because I repost most fanart to do with this fic on there now as it’s easier to find that way (the ones below come from Pinterest). Anyway go look at these masterpieces to make ur day:
> 
> [have some art](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725478624/)
> 
> [have some more](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725696005/)
> 
> [one more](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507725940583/)
> 
> and read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592493) because it is LITERALLY fucking incredible and i've reread maybe 5 times now. It's the Lightning Incident from Chena's pov and it's literally better than this fic soooooo go read or perish i guess up to you.
> 
> okay here *shoves chapter 17 at you then runs away* *just like zuko last chapter lol* *too soon?* *i'll see myself out*
> 
> have a fantastic day nerds and perhaps, in the hypothetical situation that you could possibly do something that i personally would not do, then don't x

The shadows were cold things grabbing at his ankles, the first winter’s night of the year, creeping in with its merciless chill. Winter never had been taught softness, and now it watched Zuko sprint with nothing but hollow darkness. 

He'd made his decision easily. 

Grappling with living or dying, understanding the weight of this choice, had made him hesitate, but Zuko had known straight away that there really was never any decision to begin with. 

He wouldn’t abandon the Water Tribe, wouldn’t even let himself consider it. 

And now, his limbs screamed at him to slow, feet catching on the uneven rocks of Gaoling’s hills, scrambling for stability, pushing always forward, forward, forward. Even as each panted breath scratched his throat, even as his heart raced faster than he did, he moved forward. He hadn’t felt a fear like this in a long time. He'd feared for himself plenty, stared death in the eye and blinked first, but fearing for the lives of others, lives of people he cared about, caused a different kind of terror. It felt like there was an eagle-hawk caught inside him, flapping against the confines of his ribcage, desperate for warmer nights than this. An organic fear. A tangible fear. A fear that tore him apart as he remembered a flicked hand and nonchalant threat. _We'll just bury their little camp_. 

All because of Zuko. 

Zuko forced himself to move quicker, finally reaching the crest that overlooked the beach, the camp, _his_ camp. 

If those two soldiers thought they could hurt the warriors, then they had Zuko to go through first. 

Despite the darkness brought on by Agni’s descent, the Water Tribe tents were still clear, lit up by the orange campfire. As was tradition, the warriors had gathered around it. They always did before bed, never tiring of one another’s company. Zuko used their mingling voices to muffle his footsteps as he hugged the treeline. 

Zuko remembered seeing these men fight, all that millennia ago on the Erlong. He remembered his mental list he’d made, analysing the risk factor posited by each of them. The warriors were a force to be reckoned with. 

But Zuko also remembered Nanook, then a stranger, held up by Tomkin and Tulok. Zuko remembered how he himself had scorched Chena’s chest; a second longer over the flame and the damage would have been too much to survive. 

Two earthbenders against an entire tribe of warriors was hopeless, but a melee was a melee. People would get hurt, would risk their lives, no matter the odds. Zuko couldn’t take the risk. He protected the lives of the many as the Fire Prince, but as Zuko, he protected the lives of the few. Hakoda be damned. 

Which meant he had to fight this alone. 

When they’d unpacked the Ullaakut of the things needed to make camp, Zuko had watched Chena and Aput haul a large chest down the gangplank, leaving it beneath a small area to the side of camp, covered by tarp, where supplies were put. Zuko had known what was in that chest wasn’t the usual food and water and clothes of supplies. He heard the metal clang, saw Chena’s curled grin. Weapons, picked from the Ullaakut’s armoury, to keep in case the camp was attacked and the warriors had to defend themselves quickly. Zuko knew the Water Tribe were different, used machetes not swords, but he had trained with Piandao, for Agni’s sake. He'd make it work. 

Accepting that he’d probably have to take on those two earthbenders with a weapon he didn’t know how to use, Zuko slipped out of the treeline, ducking behind tents until he reached the tarped over supplies corner. There was no one here and he was completely hidden from the campfire, but he kept his movements silent all the same. 

He couldn’t, however, silence his scoff of surprised delight when he opened the chest to see two familiar broadswords glinting at him beneath the moonlight. 

____ 

“He should be back by now.” Hakoda worried, staring at the shadowed hills of Gaoling, searching for a shadow that moved. 

“Please,” Chena scoffed from the other side of the campfire, “he’s a teenage boy. You ran off plenty at that age if I remember correctly.” 

“True, remember that time you snuck out and wound up getting your foot stuck in a snowdrift? Me and Bato had to come find you.” Kanut grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Joking when stressed was a specialty of his. 

“ _I_ never snuck off after an argument.” Hakoda pointed out. Running off because you’re young and running off because you’re upset were two wildly different things, and the latter could lead to recklessness that Zuko was already prone to. 

Tomkin let his head fall into his hands. "It’s all my fault!" He cried, making Nanook roll his eyes. He'd been consoling the other boy ever since they watched Zuko storm off. 

“Little Tom-.” 

“It is!” Tomkin snapped his head up, cutting off Tulok’s soft tones. “Hakoda told him he could leave at any Earth Kingdom port he wanted to, but he chose to stay until I started acting like a dick, and now he’s never coming back!” 

“Tui and La, don’t _say_ stuff like that.” Nanook hissed. “Between the two of you, your dramatics are gonna be the death of me. Honestly, Zuko immediately thinks you hate him after a single spat, and you immediately think he’s gone forever just because he goes for a _walk_.” 

Tomkin just blinked at Nanook, eyes wide and horrified. “He thinks I hate him?!” 

Nanook groaned. 

“Let’s all just chill the fuck out, how about that?” Chena tried, but was met with a handful of glares that were, tellingly, not willing to chill the fuck out. 

“At least look at this logically,” Aput spoke up, quirking an eyebrow, “that kid is ridiculously competent when he needs to be. He can take care of himself, and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll come back.” 

Hakoda sighed, wanting to believe Aput. He couldn’t remember when the crew decided that Zuko was one of theirs now. Hakoda knew he decided it in the South Pole, in his tent, but he’d never told the others what Zuko told him that night. The crew simply saw the change in Hakoda, and it made them give Zuko a chance. It was the lightning that did it, Hakoda thought. The last nail in the wall of a new home. This Fire Nation Prince was the Water Tribe’s to care for now, and they all felt like they’d failed. 

Hakoda more than anyone. 

He shouldn’t have pushed Zuko so much, should have seen him shutting down and backed off. He'd thought the words needed to be said, but perhaps it wasn’t the time, or he said them wrong, or he was too blunt. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he should have done differently. 

“Hey.” Kanut said, nudging Hakoda with his knee. “He’s a kid, not a child, you know.” 

Hakoda frowned. “What?” 

“Sometimes, you treat him like he’s this fragile little child,” Kanut explained, staring at his scarred hands, “but he isn’t. He’s a bloody-minded kid, and he's strong, stronger than most of us. He'll come back.” 

Hakoda thought a moment, before he sighed. “Tui and La, I hope so.” 

____ 

Zuko was seven when he first started training to use his dual swords, and these were the same ones he’d had, all these years. The same ones he was once willing to fight an entire tribe of warriors for. He smirked at the memory. _Idiot_ , he thought, but didn’t regret it. 

He picked them up and all of his fear, his panic, his uncertainty, suddenly fell away. He always felt like that with his swords in hand. This must be what Azula felt with firebending. Unstoppable. Zuko was in complete control when he had his dual swords. 

This was all going to be okay. 

With a deep breath, Zuko slung the scabbard over his shoulder. He was about to draw the swords together, making the impression of a single blade, when he hesitated. 

He had promised Hakoda that he would think things through from now on, and if he was being honest with himself, Zuko knew there was a chance this wouldn’t be okay. He knew that. He had to know that. For all Uncle’s proverbs, Zuko could usually tell when a plan was stupid, it just never stopped him. But now, he hesitated. Because he made a promise, and if this went badly, the warriors would have no idea what happened to him. They'd think Zuko had just left them, like Hakoda had said he could, like he’d decided not to. Without so much as a goodbye or a thank you. 

He couldn’t risk it. He had to leave something, some sort of sign. A message. He was running out of time. There was nothing he could write with or on anywhere nearby, and he couldn’t think of anything to leave behind that had enough meaning. 

He traced the handle of one of his swords absentmindedly, an idea catching light in his mind, an idea he wasn’t particularly keen on. 

Had he not specifically said to Hakoda how unnatural it would be to use only one of the dual swords? 

He could leave one, stab it into the sand where one of the warriors was bound to come across it, purposeful and obvious. Hakoda would understand what it meant, would know Zuko did not leave of his own volition. 

Everything in Zuko begged for another idea. He couldn’t fight as well with one sword, but that wasn’t the main issue. After his Agni Kai with Father, Zuko took months to get used to his impaired vision, and it reflected in his swordsmanship. So, to get better, he practiced left-handed with a single sword for an entire year, learning how to rely on his other senses, learning how to listen, how to wait, how to swing. It was slow going at first, but now when he used his dual swords, his left side didn’t hold him back. He _could_ wield a single blade, he just didn’t want to. 

Because it was unnatural. 

Because to use only one would mean to leave half of himself behind. 

But it was necessary. 

Zuko twirled one of the swords longingly, before stabbing it securely into the beach, knee kissing the sand as he did. Men had posed like this before his father. Once, so had Zuko. 

He wondered for a moment, if he was leaving a side of him behind, which side was it? And more unsettlingly, which side was he bringing with him? 

Did he even want to know? 

He scaled Gaoling’s hills once again, slowly getting used to the rocky terrain. He walked with the tribe behind him, the campfire warm and inviting, a seat around it for him if he chose. Zuko remembered yelling at Hakoda, remembered watching Tomkin storm away. He tried to tell himself he would have a chance to make amends, but the birdlike fear within him had gone eerily quiet, resigned to its cage. He couldn’t shake the thought that he wouldn’t come back from this. 

If this was the end, then it ended bitter and angry, and there was nothing he could do about that. 

“I’m sorry.” Zuko whispered, hand curling into a fist around his pai sho tile for a moment, before he turned and walked out alone into the cold. 

____ 

Oro and Renmin were ready, they were prepared, they knew what they were doing. It would be easy; they’d scouted out the Water Tribe camp earlier in the day when they’d first spotted the damned _Prince of the Fire Nation_. They would be able to sneak through the tents, snatch away the Prince while everyone else slept, cuff his hands in rocks before he got the chance to firebend. If any of the warriors got in their way, Oro would fight them off while Renmin took the Fire Prince. The camp was right by a hilled forest; starting a landslide would be easy. It would look like an accident. 

“Oro?” Renmin hissed suddenly as the buildings of Gaoling got further and further behind them, the hill before them getting steeper with every strained step. 

“Shut up, I'm thinking.” Oro muttered, not even looking at his fellow soldier, fingers curled around the last cigarette in his pack. 

“Oro, there’s someone there.” Renmin said, more urgent this time. 

Oro frowned, looking up and shaking away his thoughts. Sure enough, there was a figure walking down the hill towards them, weaving through the sparse trees, their silhouette small but drawn up proudly. In the shadows, it could have been a Spirit, but then the stranger paused, moved their hand so their palm faced the night sky, and a small flame lit their scarred face up in a glow. 

Oro grinned and Renmin sucked in a shocked breath. 

The Prince had walked right to them. 

____ 

In a crooked twist of fate, Zuko had wound up with the high-ground. He'd hoped to find the earthbenders before they found him, lure them to the clearing where Priss had agreed to meet him; flatter terrain was easier to fight on. But this, this hill of grass and rocks and a few trees, he could work with, so long as he withheld the advantage he’d been given. 

Two against one. 

Two earthbenders against one firebender. 

Zuko paused, assessing the situation, watching the two earthbenders flick green glances to one another before they stepped apart, as if to come at Zuko from both sides. One was taller than the other, and held a cigarette absentmindedly as if he’d forgotten he was smoking it, his hair a wooden brown. The other had a young face, all pinched and nervous, and his hair was a peculiar auburn. Auburn hair was rare; Zuko remembered Uncle once saying the shade was usually an indicator to Kyoshi Island heritage. Zuko had only been to Kyoshi Island once though, and had been too busy mercilessly burning innocent villagers’ homes to notice their hair colour. He winced at the thought - had it always felt so gratuitous? – before pushing it away. 

He needed to focus on the two earthbenders before him. 

This was like another fight Zuko had been in. Five against two. Those earthbenders that had been about to crush Uncle’s hands. Zuko had studied their forms, watched their attacks. He'd learned. 

Outnumbered, but not outmatched. 

“Evening, gentlemen.” Zuko said calmly, keeping his breathing rhythmic, feeling how his single sheathed broadsword shifted between his shoulder blades, ready to grab it at any given moment. The tension in the air was palpable, the taste of a battle that was yet to wage. _Waiting_ was never the part Zuko was good at. 

“It’s a little late for a teenager to be wandering the hills alone,” one of the earthbenders said as he crushed his cigarette beneath the toe of his boot, “don’t you think?” 

Zuko’s fingers twitched, lips pulling up into a grin. “I think you’ll find I can take care of myself.” 

He unsheathed his broadsword just as something hurled towards his face, arcing the blade down and slashing through the lump of rock. It scattered around him in pieces, and the earthbender with the cigarette allowed his eyes to widen a fraction in surprise. They'd really thought Zuko would be easy. 

The taller soldier growled in annoyance before charging Zuko. He was sloppy and brash, and Zuko simply twirled elegantly away from his outstretched hands, kicking the back of his knee and watching the man fall to the floor. The second soldier was more reserved, and was clearly thinking things through before he attacked. 

“Leave now and no one needs to get hurt.” Zuko hissed, pivoting to face the first man as the earthbender shakily regained his footing. 

He just smirked cruelly. “Leave? I'm looking at the first opportunity I've been handed in _years_.” He growled, and Zuko’s insides roiled uncomfortably when he saw the man pull a sickle from his belt. It was a strange weapon, the blade curved and glinting in the moonlight. One wrong move on Zuko’s part, one right move on the earthbender’s part, and that blade could kill him, could spill his blood onto the dirt around them. 

Zuko squared back his shoulders. 

He would do what he’d always done. 

Zuko would fight. 

He stepped forward and the earthbender matched his movement, and in the next moment, the peaceful countryside was split by the deafening clang of metal smacking into metal as their two blades met before their faces. Zuko snarled, pushing against him, overpowering him until the terrain beneath his feet began to slide. He barely had time to jump back before a pillar of rock shot up, attempting to break his jaw. He glared at the auburn-haired soldier, who stood now in a bending stance a few metres away. 

“Renmin, go make sure the Water Tribe aren’t gonna ambush us.” The earthbender with the sickle hissed, and Zuko’s heart skipped. 

“That wasn’t the plan, Oro-.” The clearly smarter earthbender, Renmin, urged, green eyes fearful as he looked between Zuko, who had rooted his stance and held his broadsword with deadly precision, and the other soldier, Oro. 

“Now!” Oro yelled, but just as Renmin went to reluctantly comply, a bolt of fire cut right in front of him, freezing him in place. 

“Leave them out of this.” Zuko said, half-feral with determination. It suddenly no longer mattered if he survived this fight, as long as these men stayed _away_ from the camp. 

“Renmin, go!” Oro ordered, urgent this time, like he thought Zuko was tricking them. To Zuko’s horror, Renmin nodded, running into the shadows Zuko had emerged from only minutes before. 

Oro was frowning, as if Zuko’s behaviour confused him, but Zuko didn’t give him the chance to think too hard on it before he jumped forward. He went to swing his sword, but just as Oro readied to parry, Zuko switched hands, slashing the blade and catching Oro’s shoulder in a deep cut. 

The man cried out, more surprise than pain, and Zuko used his distraction to bolt the way Renmin had gone. He barely made it two paces before sharp rock locked around his ankle, sending him sprawling forward. He thought of the warriors sleeping in their tents, unprepared, defenceless. He had to get there first. Zuko managed to twist around, bashing the handle of his sword against the rock that encased his foot, but it wouldn’t budge, and suddenly, Oro was in his face, arm swinging down. Zuko just managed to raise his sword in time to shove the spindle’s directory upwards. It wasn’t enough to avoid injury altogether, and the blade cut his jaw, right below his scar, warm blood dripping down Zuko’s neck. 

The sight of it unhinged something in Zuko, breaking open the cage within him and letting his fear soar free, tearing him to shreds until he was nothing but a skeleton of age-old instincts. 

Fight or flight. 

Zuko grabbed a handful of Oro’s green uniform just as the man went to earthbend, yanking him to the ground. Zuko's ankle was still trapped, but now, Oro was within his grip. Bending and swordsmanship abandoned them both; in that moment, they scrabbled and punched like animals. Zuko cuffed Oro across the head, reaching as far as he was able to try and pin the bigger man down. Oro, disorientated from the hit, just managed to wrestle Zuko off, his foot digging beneath Zuko’s ribs and making him gasp. 

Rocks flew from the ground, encasing Oro’s knuckles moments before he punched Zuko in the face. 

Zuko's head snapped to the side, the rocks tearing through the skin of his unscarred cheek, the force of it agonising and strong enough to send him onto his back. The world around him spun with a sickening dizzyness. There was blood pooling in Zuko’s mouth. _The camp_. 

“You can’t beat me, Your Majesty.” Oro growled, clenching his hand into a fist that saw rock shooting forward and pinning Zuko’s wrist to the ground. Oro pressed his knee to Zuko’s chest, ugly face looming, spindle stained with Zuko’s blood. He’d trapped him. 

But the man got too cocky, and forgot one very important fact about Zuko. 

“It’s _Your Highness_.” Zuko hissed, before releasing his held breath in a gust of burning flame. 

Oro screamed, rolling to the side and relenting Zuko’s binds in his hurry to get away. The adrenaline roaring through Zuko’s body made him numb to his aching foot and wrist, numb to the pain that throbbed with every pulse of blood through the cuts to his face. He just needed to run. He needed to get to the others. 

In the chaos of it all, he barely remembered the jar of tea leaves still tucked in his pocket. It fell onto the hill, shattering, leaves scattering. 

But it suddenly didn’t matter, because Zuko was seconds away from the crest of the hill, seconds away from being able to see the warriors, his friends. 

And then it all went wrong. 

A rock ledge jutted out, smacking into his knee and sending waves of agony through him as his body crumpled over. Zuko's hand clutched the ground, fingers burying into the dirt, as he tried to push himself up, but he was met with a wet blade at his throat and a man panting heavily in his ear. Zuko could just see the tips of the camp’s tents, the faintest glow of the ebbing campfire. Zuko could see Renmin, frozen and confused, a few metres away. 

“This is how this is going to go, Prince Zuko.” Oro snarled in Zuko’s ear, Zuko’s _left_ ear. “You are going to come with us. You are going to comply and keep your mouth shut, and we are going to take you to General Fong.” Coolers, brigs, _they won’t hesitate to break you_. Zuko writhed, but Oro just grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck even further. Zuko could barely breathe past the thumping of his heart. 

“If you don’t,” Zuko could hear the cruel grin in Oro’s voice, “then we have back-up headed here _as we speak_. By midnight, that precious little camp that you so inexplicably want to keep safe will be no more than a graveyard. Am I making myself clear?” 

He was. He was spelling it out in the simplest way possible. Zuko could choose to save himself, or he could choose to save the Water Tribe. And he'd already made that decision once tonight, but this was so, so different. This was explicit, a precipice he was dangling from. This wasn’t a worst-case scenario anymore; this was the _only_ scenario. Deciding to stay and fight in order to protect the Water Tribe was easy, because fighting, surviving, was what Zuko _did_. But now, Oro was telling him to give himself up, to allow himself to be taken prisoner when Zuko knew full well what awaited him with Fong, in order to protect the Water Tribe. 

To save the warriors, Zuko needed to _stop _fighting.__

____

____

To save the warriors, Zuko needed to give up. 

Father and Azula wouldn’t have stayed this long anyway, and they certainly wouldn’t submit to capture for the sake of others. Azula would say that Zuko had repaid his debt to the Water Tribe now, that he’d fought Oro and Renmin, had done his best, and that was all they could ask. Azula would say if the warriors even had a shred of compassion for Zuko, they would never expect this of him.

And Zuko knew wholeheartedly that that was true. If Hakoda or Kanut or Tomkin or Nanook or even fucking Chena were here right now, Zuko knew they’d be begging him to run, escape, fight. Because they cared about him, and Zuko realised now that that meant they didn’t expect anything in return. 

But Zuko also realised that he cared about them, and he couldn’t ask for anything in return.

He wouldn’t ask for their lives in place of his. He wouldn’t allow it.

__Zuko shifted awkwardly, slowly sheathing his sword, before dropping his hands to his sides. As he sat on his muddied knees just shy of the crest of that hill, blood staining his blue clothes, Zuko thought of his friends._ _

Chena was the first one he met, and they met with blades between them and the words _‘ashmaker’_ and _‘barbarian’_ in greeting. This morning, Chena had tried to convince Zuko not to go into the market, brow furrowed in badly hidden concern for if Zuko got recognised. 

Once, Zuko had been pulled before Hakoda and trembled in his terror, had told the Chief to kill him and not understood when the man didn’t. Hakoda, who said the words ‘ _love is love_ ’ like it didn’t have to mean anything when it struck Zuko with the weight of meaning _everything_. Hakoda, whose hug felt like safety to a boy who had never felt it before. Hakoda, whose men called him Chief not because he demanded it, but because he’d earned it. 

And what about Kanut? His stupid tea and stupid sarcasm and the stupid way he never pushed his white hair from his face when he was reading, and the stupid way he was _always_ reading. Kanut had never made Zuko turn his back on the door and had asked for permission to do what had to be done. Kanut had slept in the same room as Zuko back when he had no reason to believe Zuko wouldn’t kill him, had given trust so easily despite everything his father did to beat it out of him. 

__Zuko thought of Tomkin’s relentless laughter and Nanook’s slow but steady friendship. He thought of how they’d wreaked havoc amongst the crew time and time again, how he found out you could hurt from laughter, not just terror. They taught Zuko how to have fun, how to be a teenager. They were his first real friends._ _

__Zuko thought next of Tulok. He'd hated him for so long, but the warrior was wise and kind and _soft_. It was still his ribbon in Zuko’s hair, tainted beneath Oro’s harsh grip. A hundred miles away, a pile of rocks sat beside a deserted Fire Nation ship, ashes scattered and tributes placed. Tulok knew how to lay Fire Nation souls to rest now. Zuko hoped, quietly, that Tulok would do the same to his if it came to that. _ _

__Zuko took a deep breath, meditative, and came finally to Aput. He'd taught Zuko caulking and swabbing and all manner of useless, nonsensical, peasant chores that Zuko had grumbled against to no end, and he’d taught him patiently, even as he swore at him. Aput had said Zuko was different to others from the Fire Nation, and Zuko had been too angry to realise that, after the damage his nation had done, that was a compliment._ _

__It hurt to think about them. Even as Zuko’s mind flicked through the vague faces of the other crewmembers, the ones he hadn’t bothered with and the ones who hadn’t bothered with him, it hurt. It hurt as he pictured Chop chasing him, Tomkin and Nanook up onto the deck, as he pictured foggy faces glaring at him in the corridors. Leaving the Water Tribe hurt. It hurt so much Zuko wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. He'd just started learning how to be content, how to prioritise more than just the Avatar, and now, it was all being ripped from him._ _

__And he was letting it happen, because if he didn’t, it would all be buried and the Water Tribe would be another memory damned to that Agni-forsaken beach._ _

__“I’ll go with you." Zuko whispered._ _

_______ _

Kanut didn’t sleep that night. He sat by the campfire until it guttered into nothing but ash and pathetic embers. He waited, waited for movement, or a sign, or _something_. Nothing came. When he saw a flash of orange across the hill, his heart leapt hopefully, but a few minutes passed and still, nothing. It was just one of the campfire’s loose embers, one that refused to extinguish, despite it all, sparking up towards the sky to curl amongst the stars. 

_______ _

Zuko didn’t fight but still Oro shoved him between the shoulder blades as they descended the hill. Zuko felt numb to it all, vacant, hollowed, _damned_. White moonlight bled onto the hill in stripes, hidden by cloud like even the moon was watching through her fingers. Tui, was her name, sister of Agni. It wasn't Zuko’s religion, but she at least deserved a name. _Take care of them for me_ , Zuko prayed. And maybe Tui heard him, because the cloud shifted and light fell dimly onto sharp shards of glass. 

__Zuko had dropped the fucking tea leaves._ _

He tried to swoop down and grab them, suddenly needing to have them, have something, have _anything_ with him through this, but Renmin grabbed his sleeve and hauled him back, causing Zuko’s palm to gash open against the shattered jar. He didn’t even wince. He'd known it wouldn’t work. Nothing ever did. 

__“Don’t try anything, princeling.” Oro snarled, shoving Zuko once more. Zuko went to hold a flame in his palm out of instinct, a threat, but when he tried, nothing came. He felt guttered. He felt... cold._ _

__Agni, he was so cold. And all he had to warm him was the blood coating his hands._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko, baby, my dear, my love, my angel, have you considered, has it ever crossed your mind, that you could, perhaps, actually use your FUCKING BRAIN FOR ONCE???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????  
> like 'ahhaaha two earthbenders wanna kidnap me, time to be an honour-bound twat and fight them off singlehandedly lookie here i go' NO SHITDICK. GET YOUR FATHER. NOT THAT ONE. HAKODA.


	18. i. The Hill We Die On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE WAS A BITCH A REAL MOTHERFUCKER A COMPLETE BASTARD IF YOU WILL. writers block said 'no <3' this week and it's been hard but here i am at 1am on monday regardless because i hate myself and am stupid. very stupid. if you find ANY mistakes in this chapter then that's my business. honestly chapter 18 came into my house and beat me up and just refused to be written into existence for the longest time. I HATE IT but hey at least it's here now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts from the perspectives of two literal legends. You get a new pov that u all have been bitching for. Hope this makes up for the distinct lack of a certain somebody’s pov this chapter. Hope it’s not because something bad has happened. That would be not good. 
> 
> the way that this is the penultimate chapter of part 1? effectively the second to last chapter of an entire BOOK? who let this happen. fess up
> 
> WATCH [THIS](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/631170678821928960/i-have-never-laughed-at-anything-more-in-my-life-i) IF YOU WANT TO CRY LAUGHING BECAUSE THE GENIUS THAT IS @abby420 ON TUMBLR MADE A TAOB VINE COMP AND I- GSUIHGIUSDHG
> 
> okay hope u all have a good day nerds, don't do anything i wouldn't do or else i'll show up in ur room while ur sleeping and sing wap @ you xxx

Don’t get her wrong, Toph loved Earth Rumble VI. She loved the thundering rolls of the crowd around her, the smell of dirt and sweat, the freedom, the excessiveness of it all that was so vivid compared to her sheltered life back home. But tonight, she couldn’t help but be a little impatient, grumbling to herself as Xin Fu did his usual, ridiculous showmanship. 

She wanted to see Prickly again. 

More specifically, she wanted to kick his ass as they sparred. 

So, when Toph finished mercilessly hurling grown men out of the ring for the night, she practically threw herself through a crater, racing through tunnels and feeling her way to the clearing she’d told Prickly about. Toph couldn’t help but snicker to herself as she ran. _This_ , truly, was the life; running from fight to fight, covered in dirt and sweat, hair plastered to her face, half-feral. None of those namby-pamby dinner parties and nobles and- _ugh_. The thought alone was sickening. 

“Hey, tea boy-!” Toph began with a sneer as she erupted from the ground, before cutting herself off, frowning. She moved her feet, feeling the entire clearing, the sloped hills surrounding it, feeling even the slumbering town a mile or so away. Like this, she could see everything. 

Everything but Prickly. 

But she’d _specifically_ told him to meet her here in an hour, and it had been an hour, and she was here, so where was he? 

Toph growled in frustration, sending a rock flying into the mud. She hadn’t spent her evening listening to the Boulder refer to himself in the third-person just to lose to _Prickly_. Prickly with his stupid, weird heartbeat and his Spirits-damned _tea leaves_. 

_I'm with the Water Tribe. We're camped on the beach just over the hill._

Toph’s grin was evil. She wasn’t a fan of sand, but she decided it was time she took a trip to the beach. 

She'd just started stomping up the hill, cackling to herself as she pictured storming into the camp, knocking Prickly awake and demanding he stop being a coward and spar with her, when she was forced to stop. Toph’s insistence of going barefoot everywhere – so she could actually, you know, _see_ – meant the skin of her feet was tough, and she didn’t flinch when she trod on rocks or particularly pesky twigs. 

Glass, however, was another matter entirely. 

“ _Ow!_ ” She shouted, hopping as if she could jump away from the sudden pain in her foot, hands grabbing only to touch something warm and slick. She'd cut herself. Nothing major, but enough to draw a few drops of blood. Frowning and swearing with the few curses she knew, Toph carefully kneeled, using her hands to search for the pesky shard of glass that had nicked her, if only to launch it away out of revenge. 

At first, she didn’t question how slippery the glass was. She _had_ just cut herself on it, and was being reminded by her now throbbing foot that wouldn’t help her vision _at all_. But then she thought the shard was a little too slick; there was a lot more blood on it than there should be from one small cut. And this blood was... cold. It hadn’t been here long enough to dry, but it had lost its life beneath the moon. 

Toph dropped the shard with a horrified gasp. 

That wasn’t her blood. 

Her hands weren’t shaking, _they weren’t_ , as they slowly crept over what appeared to be a shattered jar, and then something a lot softer. It reminded Toph of sitting with her parents, stilted silences, the servants slowly making tea. Sometimes she’d dip her fingers into the jars, feel the leaves, how smooth they were, nothing like the wild, brittle ones outside, before her mother would pull her away because Spirits forbid Toph ever get _dirty_. 

“Oh,” Toph breathed, hand flinching back, “ _Prickly what did you do?_ ” 

____ 

Bato’s burn had been a real bastard to heal. 

He could remember it all so clearly. The blue sky above, the Ullaakut rocking around him with the same steady familiarity as his own heartbeat, the crew teasing one another as they did their chores. And then suddenly, there were Fire Nation soldiers on deck, and Bato was in the middle of the fray. The soldier that got him wasn’t much of a looker, all chin and forehead, and even now, Bato remembered how the man ducked down his hands, lifting them like he was bidding a room to rise, before hurling a ball of fire directly at Bato. 

Bato moved quick, quick enough to save his life and – even more crucially – his _face_ , but not quick enough to avoid the fire searing his chest, ravaging through his shirt and tearing away at his skin. For a moment, the left side of his torso was devoured by flames, and he felt nothing but agony and shock and numbness. All he could do was stare at it. 

Then Chena almost knocked him unconscious with the ferocity in which he patted down the fire, and Bato found himself on his back, staring back up at the blue sky. 

Hakoda was a wreck, and took the honourable narrative he always favoured by trying to blame himself. Bato wouldn’t hear it, and quickly made Kanut kick their friend out of the infirmary. Kanut, rude as ever, obliged immediately. 

Kanut was blunt as well as rude, and as soon as Hakoda was gone, he told Bato the predicament they were in. The burn was bad, third degree, and needed specific medicines. Medicines they didn’t have because they’d lost their alliance with Fong. 

If Hakoda found out, he’d be distraught with guilt. The two of them didn’t even discuss their promise to keep this from the Chief. 

Bato separated from the crew with a grin and a wink, ruffling Little Tom’s hair and nudging between Chena and Aput, pretending this wasn’t a big deal, that he’d be right back, but deep down, watching the Ullaakut leave him behind, a wolf separated from the pack, hurt more than anything in the world. 

Well, almost anything. The nuns had given him this horrendous burn cream, and _that_ truly had hurt like a bitch. 

“This you?” 

Bato blinked – Hakoda always said he daydreamed too much – and took in his surroundings. It was all very... green. No ice. No chill. Just hills and trees and nature. 

The Earth Kingdom. 

“Depends,” Bato said, uncrossing his legs as he turned to the man beside him, “if it is, will you miss me?” 

The man was driving a cart of cabbages into Gaoling, his ostrich-horse smelling disgusting as it trundled forward. Bato had hitched a ride with him a few miles ago and had filled the silence since. He was yet to meet anyone immune to his incessant flirting, but this man – who refused to reveal his name, being called only ‘Cabbage Man’ in Bato’s mind – seemed stubbornly impervious. He'd barely responded to Bato with more than a _‘yes’_ or a _‘no’_. The longest sentence he strung together was when Bato commented on what Gaoling might be like, causing Cabbage Man to answer with a jaded _‘it can’t be worse than Omashu.’_

“Not at all. You can get off at the next hill.” Cabbage Man grumbled. 

Bato rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smile. They were close, he could feel it. His friends, his crew, his family. Hakoda had written to him every time the Water Tribe moved locations, and he’d said last that they were heading to Gaoling. Bato wasn’t sure why Hakoda wasn’t just going straight to Chameleon Bay like he was supposed to, but then again, there was a lot Bato couldn’t explain about his friend’s recent behaviour. Like the short note he got that casually informed him of the Ullaakut’s plan to travel _to the South Pole_. What could have possessed Hakoda to make such a brash detour? 

Nothing good. 

Bato left Cabbage Man with a wink and a promise of a ‘next time’, wincing when he instinctively waved the man off. The nuns had healed his burn with patience and care, but it was still sore and they said it would scar. The thought made Bato thank the Spirits, once again, for sparing his pretty face. 

He was on foot from here, but if Hakoda’s directions were still valid, Bato wouldn’t have long to go before he reconvened with the Water Tribe. 

Beneath the sunset and surrounded by lush greenery, Bato allowed himself a smile as he walked. The night would be upon him by the time he reached his men, but he refused to set up camp. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was too close. 

Still smiling, Bato wondered about what his friends had got up to these past few weeks, before deciding nothing exciting _possibly_ could have happened with him absent. 

____ 

Hakoda was on the precipice of sleep, the foggy weight that was natural after a long day being pierced with every panicked beat of his heart as he wondered about a golden-eyed boy who might be in trouble, when a loud _boom_ ricocheted through the camp. He jolted upright, hand already on the machete he kept beneath his pillow. In the tents around his, he heard the other warriors stirring – Aput's ridiculous snoring cutting off abruptly, Chena thumping to the floor after jumping up too quick – and Hakoda slowly prowled forward. He'd spent the last few seconds desperately trying to figure out what could have caused a noise like that, something so loud that it vibrated through the sand, and the conclusion he came to made his shoulders bunch, ready for an argument. 

Earthbenders. 

Which was why Hakoda was not expecting to see a tiny little girl stood at the front of the camp with her hands on her hips when he emerged from his tent. 

“Finally!” She yelled, voice high-pitched and insistent, the kind of tone only youth could offer. 

“Who are you?” Hakoda asked with a frown. The girl couldn’t have been older than twelve, wearing green clothing to indicate she was clearly from Gaoling, her hair falling in her face and the same deep black as-. 

Hakoda shut his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. 

“It’s dark, kid. You shouldn’t be here.” Hakoda tried again, and was immediately shown that this was the wrong thing to say. 

He was shown this because the little girl stomped down her foot, and suddenly, two boulders from the nearby hill levitated with a resounding boom. 

“I’m _not_ a kid!” The kid hissed, and Hakoda’s heart flipped at the familiarity of it. 

Kanut tore open his tent then, a book in his hand, proof he’d never even tried to sleep, expression furious. He opened his mouth to say something, before seeing the little girl and closing it again. For a second, he was too bewildered to talk. Then, he turned to Hakoda. 

“Why is there a toddler in our camp?” He asked calmly. 

The girl threw one of the boulders and Kanut just had time to duck into his tent before it smashed through the sand in front of him; a threat. 

By now, the other Water Tribe warriors were stalking out, weapons in hand, expecting an enemy. Hakoda wasn’t quite sure yet if that was what this little girl was. 

“I don’t know if you dunderheads have noticed,” the girl sniped, lip curling, “but you’re missing a member.” 

Kanut, who had been haphazardly trying to slip past the boulder now blocking the entrance of his tent, froze, shooting a glare at the girl. 

“You’ve seen him?” He asked, attempting to make his words sound curious but instead they came out as an interrogative hiss. 

The girl gave a firm nod, and Hakoda’s stomach swooped. He didn’t like her atmosphere, the way she talked like she knew something, something they didn’t, something about Zuko. 

Zuko was in trouble. 

“I saw him a couple hours ago. He was supposed to meet me but he didn’t show.” The little girl said, and there was a sudden softness to her. Not soft in the typical sense, but soft in the way ice can be smooth and fire can be warm; attributes of something with the potential to be deadly. 

And then the girl drew herself tall, proud, _noble_ , and made her voice carry through the camp. 

“I need to show you something.” 

____ 

"She’s dangerous.” Aput said. 

“She’s a child.” Tomkin said. 

Nanook quirked an eyebrow. “She threw a boulder at Kanut.” 

“Yeah,” Chena tried for a smile, “but can you blame her?” 

Kanut elbowed him in the ribs and he cursed. The warriors had gathered quickly, whispering about what the fuck to do now. Opinions were mixed. Some thought the girl was a threat, someone they couldn’t trust. Others thought she was telling the truth and must have seen Zuko. And then the rest didn’t care, would take anything they could get if it meant confirming the stupid Fire Prince hadn’t got himself killed. 

Chena was _not_ one of those people, but he’d appreciate it if the other warriors could hurry up and come to a decision. 

“It’s up to you, Chief.” Tulok said softly, and they all turned to Hakoda, who had gone quiet as he frowned, staring at the sand. 

“You pansies done yapping?” The girl called from where she stood, still at the edge of camp, tapping her foot impatiently. 

“Tui, I hate children.” Kanut said quietly. 

Hakoda was doing his usual I've-come-to-a-personal-decision-but-can't-decide-if-it's-a-Chief-decision face, and Chena rolled his eyes. 

“Listen, we’ll arm up and follow her. We run into any trouble we can just-.” 

“Murder a child?” Kanut asked sweetly. 

“No, asshole.” Chena growled. “We’ll just scare her off.” 

Everyone nodded and hummed in agreement, and Hakoda worked his jaw, before sighing. 

“Alright.” 

____ 

When the crew of the Ullaakut first left the South Pole two years ago, Hakoda was bombarded with new information. Being a Chief had never included international affairs before; he cared for his tribe and his tribe only. But in joining the war effort and allying with the Earth Kingdom, Hakoda was given witness to a world he realised he didn’t know a lot about. Kanut became his bank of information. Hakoda asked his childhood best friend, his Angakkuq, his brother in every way but blood, every question he had in the privacy of his cabin, and Kanut either knew the answer or had a book with the answer. 

Hakoda, upon learning of Caldera City, once asked of calderas and their genesis. Kanut told him about volcanos, about violent eruptions, about lava no longer there to support the volcano and leading it to collapse upon itself, leaving a scarred crater in its wake. 

Hakoda felt a little like that now. Zuko left and the pressure began to build. The little girl revealing hints of something darker than a teenage outburst became the violent eruption. Hakoda was boiling beneath the surface, white-hot lava coursing through his veins. He barely even remembered agreeing to Chena’s plan. He just needed to find Zuko. Hakoda had sworn to keep him safe. 

So, he followed his men to where they kept the weapons, almost in a daze. He didn’t even need anything; he had his machete. 

And then he saw a single broadsword stabbed deep in the sand, faint footprints around it, and his heart collapsed in on itself, a caldera of pain and horror and burning, burning terror. 

Hakoda remembered taking the dual swords off Tomkin weeks ago, putting them in the armoury with the other weapons. They'd been sheathed for a month now. Hakoda knew because after Zuko talked to him about them, he went to check on them, fingers dancing carefully over the scabbard, considering giving them back to their rightful owner. He was going to, as well. He saw how much Zuko loved these blades, remembered how Zuko was willing to fend them all off just to retrieve them. 

Zuko had been here. He’d been here and he unsheathed his swords and he _only took one._

Why? 

Hakoda remembered Zuko staring out to sea, golden eyes contemplative, fingers holding tight to the rail as he explained his dual swords. Hakoda wanted to reach into his memories, grab the boy by the shoulders, demand _what have you done, what have you done, what have you done..._

But the Zuko from Hakoda’s memories only stared out to sea. _It would be unnatural._

This sword was a message. A message directly to Hakoda. 

Zuko would never leave one of these swords behind unless he had no other option. 

“Something happened to him.” Hakoda whispered, making his men snap their gazes to him. 

The earthbender girl, who had stalked them to their chest of weapons, huffed, a strand of hair flying from her glassy eyes. “Good,” she hissed, “ _one_ of you has sense.” 

____ 

There was a blind child who wouldn’t reveal her name and was clearly out without her parents’ permission leading them over the hill, and Aput seemed to be the only person with sense enough to realise that _this was not okay._

“This is not okay.” Aput said to no one in particular. The girl was leading the way, insistent on showing them something, though whenever Hakoda, suddenly serious and demanding like he became when things got very bad, asked what she wanted to show them, the girl grew unnaturally quiet, like she didn’t know how to explain. 

She also told them to call her the Blind Bandit. 

Through his concern and stress, Aput couldn’t help a single, humourless thought. 

_Only Zuko._

“Relax, Aput,” Chena, who had taken a liking to the earthbender, sneered, “you’re making _me_ nervous.” 

But Aput knew that wasn’t true. They were all already nervous. They had been nervous ever since the sun began to set with no sign of Zuko. Aput didn’t really have much of a relationship with the firebender, but he knew the Prince well enough now to know he was a good kid, and... it would have been nice to say goodbye. 

Except now, Hakoda and the strange earthbender were insistent that something bad had happened, something out of Zuko’s control, and the seven of them that had departed with _the Blind Bandit_ became a cluster of anxiety. 

“What if she’s lying?” Aput said quietly, gaze flicking to the little girl walking ahead of them. She didn’t even have shoes. _Why_ didn’t she have shoes? 

“What if she isn’t?” Hakoda said, and the worry in his blue eyes was so poignant that Aput’s breath caught in his throat. 

He didn’t get the chance to say more, because the girl stopped suddenly, sliding her feet as if feeling for something, before pointing to her right. 

“There." She whispered, and she finally sounded her age, finally sounded _scared_. 

“Tomkin, Nanook, make sure she gets home.” Hakoda ordered quietly, and the youngest crewmen both hesitated, both wanting to stay and find out what had happened to their friend, before Nanook nodded and nudged Tomkin on. 

“Let’s go.” Nanook said to the little girl. 

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I do not need an _escort_ home.” 

Tomkin tried for a smile, lowering his voice though Hakoda could still hear. “I know, but the Chief’s not gonna let us leave you alone, and if I'm honest, I wouldn’t mind staying with you. This place is scary at night.” 

That stumped the girl, her arms falling to her sides in surprise. “Oh.” She said, before her face hardened again. “Whatever, are you coming or not?” 

Tomkin and Nanook gave one final look to their fellow warriors, promising to be back as soon as the earthbender was safe, before setting off down the hill. The girl stomped off with them, but just before she got out of earshot, she hesitated and turned around. 

“Find him,” she said quietly, “please.” 

And then they were gone and the others couldn’t hide from this any longer. 

Kanut moved first, frowning as he searched the area the girl had pointed towards. Aput couldn’t see what he found, but he knew when he found it, because Kanut’s entire body froze with a sharp, gasped inhale. The hillside was lit up by the grace of Tui. She was full tonight, and shamelessly glowed down on them, as if she knew they needed her. 

“Kanut-?” Aput tried, his worry becoming a cold, painful fear in the pit of his stomach. 

“There was a fight.” Hakoda rasped, and Aput turned to see his Chief had taken a few steps forward, indicating the ground. Aput swallowed before looking. Sure enough, the dirt was upturned by quick feet, charred black in a few places, and there was _blood-_. 

“Oh, you stupid, stupid kid.” Kanut whispered, and his knees met the hill as his shaking hands reached forward. 

“No.” Chena snarled, staring at the burned earth just a metre from him. “No, he’s a fucking idiot, but he’s a good fighter. I know he is better than anyone. He wouldn’t just be.... be beaten.” 

But Chena beat him. They all beat him. If Zuko could be kidnapped once, he could be kidnapped again. 

Kanut turned, and in his hands was a shattered, blood-stained jar. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, and he looked only at Hakoda. “They took him, Chief.” 

Aput remembered how euphoric they had all felt the day they took Zuko, past the fear and uncertainty. They had the best bartering tool against the Fire Nation in the entire world. And now they didn’t. Now, someone else was feeling that euphoria. Now, Zuko, who was so obviously still a teenager that it was comical, was reduced to no more than a title, a connection, a game piece. 

A game that he had lost. 

____ 

Hakoda knew how to read battlegrounds and this hill reeked of defeat. He saw the footprints and the claw marks and the blood and the burns and every little detail that his roiling stomach wished he could unsee, but knew would be branded into his mind forever. Zuko had fought. Of course he had. He’d fought so hard, but it wasn’t enough. They took him. 

But that didn’t make sense. Zuko wouldn’t have given up. He could have got the warriors. They were only over the hill, for La’s sake. They were so close. So close and they didn’t help him and now he was gone and Hakoda didn’t even know where to start looking-. 

Hakoda froze, eyes falling to something small beneath the toe of his boot. A cigarette, half-smoked and long gone cold. Hakoda crouched and inspected it between his fingers, squinting in the limited light, before bringing it to his nose. Past the distinguishing smell of smoke, Hakoda caught something else. Something minty. The Earth Kingdom were the world's leading producers in agriculture and exported as far as the Southern Water Tribe. Farming was one topic Hakoda knew little about, being from the South Pole, but he’d learnt a lot from travelling around the Earth Kingdom, from asking soldiers about mundanities, from being polite. He found out that tobacco was more expensive to farm than peppermint. He found out that ordinary people didn’t really smoke, as the Earth Kingdom was on its knees and everyday luxuries like cigarettes were simply unobtainable. It was a mark of class, so of course, the soldiers - who just earned enough to allow it - leapt on this trend, taking every opportunity to illustrate their superiority. Hakoda found out that the difference between a nobleman’s cigarette and a simple foot soldier's cigarette was in the smell. The nobleman’s would be rich, musky, untainted. The foot soldiers', though, would have an undertone of mint from being laced with menthol. Less room for tobacco meant less money spent on tobacco. At the time, Hakoda thought it was ridiculous. A cigarette becoming a class symbol, a division within a division over something as simple as peppermint. Now, he blessed the Spirits for making his past self pay attention. 

Because this cigarette smelt of mint, which meant Zuko had to have been taken by Earth Kingdom soldiers, and the only Earth Kingdom General who knew the Prince was even outside of the Fire Nation was General fucking Fong. 

Hakoda crushed the cigarette in his fist, lip curling. 

He was just planning all the ways he was going to kill that man when he spotted a figure walking up the hill. His machete, that had been sheathed on his belt, was in his hand within seconds, but then something strange happened. Tulok, who had quietly stood to the side, ribbon in his hands and hair around his face, made a strangled gasping noise, before grinning tearily and running at the stranger. Hakoda bristled, and then blinked in surprise when Tulok grabbed them in a bear hug. 

“Easy ladies,” a familiar voice teased, “there’s enough of me for everyone.” 

_Bato._

____ 

The two foot soldiers were not where Tovah told them to be and that was all the information she needed to conclude that they would not survive the night. 

She stood tall in the countryside surrounding Gaoling, poised and ready, watching from a distance as the Water Tribe scrambled. They lost a prisoner. Not just any prisoner, but Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. 

They lost him because Tovah made a gamble. She had to do damage control. If the Water Tribe caught wind of what was going on around them, or if the Prince decided to escape, then Tovah needed to know and she needed someone on the scene until she got there. She took a gamble in those foot soldiers, and for the first time since the back allies of Ba Sing Se, she lost. It would not be a mistake that was repeated. She watched the Water Tribe for a final second, deemed them useless, and turned around. An hour later, she had offered not to spread rumours amongst the citizens of Gaoling in return for a cabbage merchant’s ostrich-horse. After all, one cabbage slug could destroy the entire ecosystem of Gaoling, and people are so easily convinced on these sorts of things. The merchant gave Tovah the reigns with shaking hands, and as she rode off down the dirt path, she couldn’t help the curl of her lips at the dismayed ‘my _cabbages_ ’ whispered in her wake. 

Miles and miles of woodland sat between Fong’s base and Gaoling. Tovah didn’t know how far behind the foot soldiers she was, but she knew it was too late to try and reach Fong before they did. She had to be smart about this, tactical. She had to pretend Fong getting the Prince was a good thing, because she was pretending to be his ally. 

Tovah would fix this. She had someone relying on her, and she refused to let them down. That Prince would be hers. 

In the breeze as she rode through the night, a hair came loose from her perfectly kempt ponytail. 

It took hours to reach Fong’s base, but Tovah rode hard and relentlessly until the merchant’s ostrich-horse was almost lame. When she reached the imposing stronghold, she swung down, barely giving the animal a second glance. It had served its purpose. It was useless to her now. 

The corridors blurred around Tovah, the soldiers hugging the walls and bowing low when they saw her. She ignored them. She had a single focus, and that was the gargantuan main hall of General Fong’s base. It was where they sat when Tovah finally discovered the Fire Prince’s location, and she had a feeling it would be where she rediscovered it too. 

“Where is the General?” Tovah asked flatly, storming into the hall despite the guards positioned at the doors that awkwardly fumbled after her. 

“He had some business to attend to, Colonel. He ought to be back-.” 

“Tovah, you’re here.” Fong smiled serenely, emerging from one of the side doors and walking behind his desk just as Tovah reached it. Tovah gave herself a second, a single deep inhale, and _searched._

But Fong was bare. Usually, people had tell-tale giveaways of _something_ amiss. Blood beneath the fingernails that just wouldn’t scrub out, a skewed collar they forgot to straighten, muddy boots when they swore they hadn’t been anywhere. Tovah knew how to find these things, but Fong was just... normal. His green uniform was worn with the usual pride, enveloped with a mundane, minty smell, and his expression was still as easy to read as ever. Not a hair out of place. 

Too perfect, like he knew he’d be under Tovah’s scrutiny. Or was Tovah being too critical? She had already been wrong once today. Another hair fell from her ponytail and she quickly flicked it from her green eyes. 

“The Fire Prince was with the Water Tribe this whole time." Tovah said immediately, and Fong's eyes widened. "I asked two foot soldiers in Gaoling to spy on him for me until I was able to arrive there myself. Once in Gaoling, there was no sign of either the soldiers or the Prince. Have you heard anything?” Tovah asked, and Fong frowned a surprisingly genuine frown, shock melting into anger. 

“If we’ve lost that Prince after getting so damned close...” Fong hissed, finger to his bearded chin. 

Tovah couldn’t tear her eyes away from General Fong. A new conclusion, one she hadn’t even considered yet, arose in her mind. 

What if the foot soldiers hadn’t brought Prince Zuko here? 

Tovah worked her jaw as the dots connected; Fong’s obliviousness, the missing foot soldiers. 

Those imbeciles took the Prince somewhere else, somewhere she wouldn’t follow. 

No matter. Tovah was not one easily evaded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The show: the B in Bato stands for bland 
> 
> Me: sorry did you say ‘a wine aunt with a god complex’? 
> 
> (no but that motherfucker had like 2 mins screentime you CANNOT tell me I've made him ooc.) (I do what I want on this bitch of an earth) (and if I want to make Bato conceited and sarcastic then that’s exactly what the fuck I'll do <3) 
> 
> can i get an F in the chat for the cabbage merchant. homeboy just wants to sell veg tovah. leave him be. ~nice guys always finish last~
> 
> also the cigarette spiel about the menthol is actually a fun little thing my grandad told me once. apparently it happened a lot in my town that guys who got promoted in the factory flexed it by buying cigarettes but they couldn't afford the kind that the bosses got? idk my grandad chats shit sometimes but i really liked the idea so here it is, but given the dummy thicc classism in england i really would not be surprised if that actually happened lmao.
> 
> the countdown: ONE CHAPTER LEFT BEFORE THE END OF PART 1 I- SGHIGIUDSHG oh boy this is gonna get so dark so quick i'm not even sorry anymore


	19. i. Where The Stars Do Not Take Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aha..... jinkies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lads we're here. the finale of book 1. holy fucking shit this chapter is.... uh
> 
> i'm gonna be honest i'm not a fan of this chapter. idk if that's cause i've been so set on making it perfect that i've set my standards too high for myself, but whatever. i also didn't post at the arsecrack of dawn this morning! who's proud! (definitely not cause i was still writing it at that point no sir)
> 
> and now the dreaded break between books. so initially i was like fuck that! i'm gonna be a bhaddie and just update next monday as per, but now i'm thinking i might have a week or two off just to make sure i'm happy with where i'm at with book 2. i honestly have no idea when i'll update next (it won't be long i promise) so if you want to stay in the loop i promise i will post my every thought and action on tumblr: hella1975.
> 
> (Also probs should have said the North Star? Yeah that bitch does not show up in the South Pole. However I pretend I do not see it in favour of soft babies Bato Hakoda and Kanut )
> 
> anyway i really hope you like this chapter. like you won't enjoy it but i hope you like it. if that makes sense. it doesn't? okay ur problem love. don't do anything i wouldn't do nerds xx

Fear burrowed within Zuko, no longer the wild ferocity of an eagle-hawk willing to pry apart his ribs if it meant freedom, but instead, something quiet and uncertain. A turtleduck, nesting between his stomach and the base of his spine. The sort of fear he hadn’t known since childhood. People like Zuko didn’t do things in moderation. Terror either seized him by the throat in all the blinding desperation of a fight, charring a hillside, or he felt nothing at all, alcohol-numb. 

But this was different. 

He hadn’t felt this since he was thirteen. 

When he finally regained consciousness on the Erlong after the Agni Kai, his strange cabin swaying with the ocean, his face screaming in agony, the pain had been too much for Zuko's mind to do anything else but shut down entirely. With the help of too-sweet teas and forced down medications, the pain had ebbed just enough for him to think again. And he thought of Father, his words, what they meant. _Banished_. He felt this kind of fear then. Not a fear of pain, because pain he could handle. Not a fear of failure, because failure he knew. But a fear of damnation. _Banished_ had a finality to it, smelled of a future burning while Zuko grabbed at the ashes, watching them slide between his fingers. 

As his hands were bound behind him and he was forced onto the back of an ostrich-horse, as the miles passed and the moon shifted through the sky, as Zuko knew fighting back would hurt the people he cared about, he felt that fear again. 

The fear that he was about to go through something horrific, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do to protect himself. 

Hours passed gruellingly before the earthbenders stopped their ostrich-horses, and Zuko was met with a glaring shadow before him. Some sort of military base, clearly. Still in the Earth Kingdom though. He hated the part of him that was relieved. A cruel whisper in his mind had nagged about the thought of being dumped in front of his father like this. But the architecture here was distinctively _not_ Fire Nation. 

That didn’t mean Zuko was off the hook. 

The fortress was imposing, like its own small city, encased by white, rammed earth walls. The earthbenders had ridden up a narrow path with Zuko, stopping before a golden gate that hid the rest of the base from Zuko’s gaze. It didn’t matter; he’d already seen enough from the ride up here. Dozens of battlements, guards patrolling the parapets, signal towers with fires flickering low. Zuko was being watched. 

As if he wasn’t already trapped enough. 

He grit his teeth as Renmin, who he’d ridden with, pulled him off the ostrich-horse. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off hours ago, and Zuko’s body reminded him with every movement. His ankles sent spasms of pain shooting through him with every ounce of weight he placed on them, his bruised ribs pressing uncomfortably with every breath, the imprint of a boot on his chest. The blood dripping from the cut on his jaw was starting to dry, crusting over his neck, but the blood in his mouth was still fresh and metallic. His lip had been caught in Oro’s impromptu knuckle-duster, and Zuko had worried at it for hours now. 

Despite it all, it was his hand that hurt the most. The cut was shallow, a simple nick from a glass shard, but the blood had swelled and spilled over his palm, his fingers, his knuckles, rubbed onto his other hand in a failed attempt to stop the bleeding. It was just... everywhere, and Zuko had almost been grateful when Oro bound his hands behind his back, the rope cutting into his wrists. Now, all Zuko had to show for the cut was the feel of a dull ache, but when he tentatively touched a finger to his palm, it still felt wet. 

The golden gate before them creaked open slowly to reveal a giant circular area, completely encased by the fortress’s towering walls. There were small buildings, a barracks where soldiers undoubtably slept, around a looming pagoda at the heart of the fortress. This wasn’t Zuko's first time in a military base – he'd broken into Pohuai not long ago – but there was a massiveness to this place, and an uncertainty. This was an Earth Kingdom fortress, not Fire Nation. Zuko was out of place. Zuko was in danger. 

And there was nothing he could do but walk onwards. 

Oro and Renmin flanked Zuko, holding an arm each as they marched him not towards the pagoda, but towards a wide staircase set _into_ the ground, leading downwards. 

Zuko had often stood sandwiched like this with Tomkin and Nanook. In the shadows of this bloody night, those memories felt far away, though it was only this morning. 

“We have a prisoner for General Fong.” Oro told any soldier they passed, grinning cruelly, _proud_. Zuko wanted to sneer, to kick out at the earthbender, but forced himself to keep his head down and keep walking. He was getting a headache, every beat of his thrumming heart filling his stinging body with a roaring _wrongness_. This was wrong. This was all wrong. This... this was never supposed to happen. 

The staircase felt never-ending, before finally abandoning Zuko to a maze of thin corridors, barely lit by the too-few oil lamps. Zuko tried to reach out to each of their flames as he passed them, but something in him wasn’t responding. Something deep, something twisted, something inherent. He felt broken. Maybe Oro had hit him harder than he’d realised... 

_Don't panic_ , he berated himself. _For the love of Agni, do not panic._

Zuko was pulled from his thoughts suddenly, because the next thing he knew, Renmin was shouldering open a particularly heavy door and Zuko was shoved into a metal room. A _completely_ metal room. Metal walls, metal floor, metal door. The only thing not-metal was two square patches of earth in the middle of the room, a metre apart. No windows. No light aside the pathetic flickering Zuko could see through the barred vision panel set into the door, where he watched Oro and Renmin getting comfortable in the hallway as they locked Zuko in. 

“Hey!" Zuko snarled, swinging his fist at the door and almost buckling into himself in agony when his knuckles punched the hard metal. 

He heard Oro snicker. “What did you honestly expect from _that?_ " He teased through the bars, but Zuko just stared, frozen, at his bloody, shaking hand. 

Fire, was what he expected. A blast of fire, shot from his hand. One of the most basic katas. The first form he ever learned. 

And all he got was blood and bone and pain and _coldness._

That was when Zuko started to panic. 

____ 

Oro rolled his shoulder, wincing at the demanding sting that shook through his body. The Prince had cut him, deep, and the blood was starting to stain the makeshift bandage Renmin had given him. Combined with the burn that seared all down his neck and jaw and the spot of blood he kept feeling on the side of his head, and Oro was in desperate need of a trip to the infirmary. Luckily, he’d spent some time at the barracks here back when he was a cadet. He knew his way around. 

He smiled at the thought of being welcomed back here as a hero. 

“He’s gone quiet.” Renmin whispered, tapping his foot. He hadn’t stopped worrying since they first spotted the damn Water Tribe, and had been all but useless during the fight to restrain the Prince. Nonetheless, Oro had managed alone. A quick lie, an easy threat, and the Fire Prince was his. 

“Good.” Oro growled, twirling the elegant scabbard in his hands. It was Prince Zuko’s. He fought with a broadsword, and surprisingly, he fought _well_. Not well enough. If his arrogance had just let the Prince walk away from the fight instead of into it, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. Oro found himself frowning, finger still absentmindedly tracing the scabbard. Nothing about the Prince’s behaviour tonight made any sense. First fighting them – two older, experienced earthbenders – completely alone, and then all but sacrificing himself for the Water Tribe, the very people who imprisoned him. 

Oro sighed, shaking the thoughts from his head. It didn’t matter and he didn’t care. He had Prince Zuko now, a victory for General Fong that would be rewarded. Oro had sent the first man he saw to request Fong’s presence in the cells as soon as possible. Now, all he had to do was wait for his glorious future to arrive. 

“Here.” Renmin said suddenly, a small smile tugging on his lips, though his eyes were still worried. He rooted through his pocket before pulling out a box of cigarettes. “I know you ran out. You need them now more than ever.” 

Renmin threw them and Oro caught the box effortlessly, grinning at his fellow soldier. “You’re a real piece of work, Renmin.” He said, happily lighting up as he’d done a hundred times before. 

“I know how much this means to you.” Renmin said, trying to shrug but losing the casualness of it in the tension of his shoulders. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Happy for _us_.” Oro corrected. He knew Renmin had never been bothered about a promotion, but he was still overjoyed to have him by his side through all this. 

Renmin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but before Oro could ask, he heard footsteps approaching and quickly stood to attention. 

General Fong was a foreboding man, tall and broad, the green uniform of a General seeming to strain over his large arms. He had a long beard, a wooden brown, that hugged his sharp face, thick eyebrows furrowed and green eyes cold, like emeralds. The lamps threw shadows behind him as he walked down the corridor, alone yet filling the space. 

“What is the meaning of this?” The General demanded, and even the way he spoke begged attention. Oro was mesmerised. This was... this was everything he wanted to be. He was looking at one of his heroes. 

So of course, he spluttered. 

“General, we-.” Oro tried, but his words wouldn’t come out and he felt small beneath Fong’s glare. 

“General Fong, we apologise to disrupt you at such a late hour.” Renmin cut in smoothly, voice easy and formal, and Oro could have kissed him. 

“I assume there’s good reasoning behind it, soldier.” Fong nodded towards Renmin, but his eyes had narrowed on the cell door. “I was told you have a prisoner.” 

“Yes,” Oro said, finally finding his voice, “not just any prisoner. _Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation._ ” 

Fong’s shoulders drew back with the speed of his shocked inhale, his green eyes widening. For a moment, disbelief grasped his body, before he righted himself again, clearing his throat. 

“I was told he escaped the Water Tribe. I had soldiers in Weihai to be sure, and I sent some of my finest to try and intercept him on his way towards Ba Sing Se.” Fong worked his jaw. “You men are from neither Weihai nor Ba Sing Se.” 

“No,” Renmin affirmed, “the Water Tribe must have lied to you. The Prince did seem oddly... protective of them. You don’t think they formed an alliance, do you?” 

“The Southern Water Tribe allying with the Fire Nation.” Fong thought aloud, disgusted. Oro couldn’t help the curl of his lip. He didn’t know much of the Water Tribe, but this was an unforgivable crime. A few seconds passed before Fong spoke again. “No." He decided. “They have lost a lot to the ashmakers; they wouldn’t easily forget that. Besides, Colonel Tovah was also in Weihai. If anything was amiss, she would have written to me, but she hasn’t.” 

Oro and Renmin shared a tense look. “General, Colonel Tovah was the one who told us to watch the Fire Prince in the first place.” Oro said, before hurrying to cover himself. “We didn’t disobey her orders, of course. It's just she was taking so long to arrive in Gaoling and we didn’t want to risk him escaping, so we took initiative and obtained him ourselves-.” 

“That’s enough, soldier.” Fong said, lips quirking. “Tovah is one of my best. She was clearly making sure the Prince truly was who she suspected before she wrote to me. She understands the fragility of our alliance with the Water Tribe.” 

Oro relaxed, nodding in agreement. Renmin still looked tense. 

“What will happen now? With the Water Tribe, I mean?” Renmin asked quietly, and Fong hummed as he thought. 

“Well, they lied about the Fire Prince. I can only assume they wanted to use him for their own personal gain. They probably realised how valuable he could be only after they sent me a letter offering him over.” Fong said, and Oro could practically see the great General’s mind working through the facts. “Annoying as it is, he was their prisoner first. They have a right to him. If we reveal that we have him, and that we stole him from them no less, things could get tense. Chief Hakoda could remove his men from Chameleon Bay. It would all get very inconvenient.” General Fong nodded firmly, sighing deeply as he came to a decision. “The Water Tribe won’t be informed of us acquiring the Prince. The alliance will be continued. No one can know the Fire Prince is here, not even our own men. You told no one of this, correct?” 

“We didn’t tell a soul.” Oro said, because he hadn’t wanted any of the other foot soldiers to try and claim his prize. 

“Excellent.” Fong said, and then he smiled a slow, sad smile. “You’re good soldiers. You have potential. I truly am sorry for this.” 

Oro frowned. “For what?” 

“If it was so easy for you to take the Fire Prince from the Water Tribe, that means it’s easy for someone to take him from us too. I can’t risk anyone knowing of his existence here. I can’t risk the Water Tribe finding out.” Fong’s green eyes were hard, relentless, unblinking. “This prisoner could end the war if we use him well. He could end this. Do you understand?” 

“Oro.” Renmin started, tone urgent, panicked, like he’d realised something, but Oro couldn’t tear his eyes away from the General before him. The General; his _hero_. He didn’t know what was happening. 

“General Fong-.” Oro whispered, before choking on his words, an almighty growl filling the corridor as the rocks in the floor surged up into two spikes. Oro didn’t feel the pain at first. He could only stare, hands fumbling around the spike now impaled in his chest. He opened his mouth to try and call out to Renmin, but only blood tumbled out, staining his uniform. 

Oro and Renmin died quickly, and the earth around their bodies swallowed any trace of them. All that was left was a scabbard and a single cigarette, still burning, filling the corridor with the smell of charred mint. 

____ 

Zuko felt sick as he stared at the ground where moments ago two men stood. He'd been watching through the bars, desperately trying to listen in on the hushed conversation, but he couldn’t help but leap back when the ground surged forwards, two spikes stabbing into the foot soldiers. They would have struck through their sternums, shattering bone with the force of it, skewering them like fish. They died so quickly, so helplessly. They didn’t even have time to consider the betrayal before the earth swallowed them and forgot them. And Zuko was shaking; he felt like he was going to be sick. This was horror in its purest form. Zuko was genuinely, overwhelmingly, chokingly horrified. 

The General sighed, muttering something beneath his breath, a prayer. He toed Zuko’s scabbard – that had fallen from Oro’s grip – before drawing himself up and finally turning to Zuko. 

When the door opened, Zuko scrambled backwards, _away_ , until his back struck the metal wall behind him. General Fong was taller than Zuko, his shoulders broader, his green eyes barren of regret. 

“They were your own men.” Zuko managed to snarl through a tight throat. “You killed your own men. _Why?_ ” 

And he’d hated Oro and Renmin, had imagined twisting from his binds and attacking them, had imagined their blood staining some ambiguous Earth Kingdom dirt path. But he knew that wasn’t an option, because that option would see whatever _back up_ Oro and Renmin called targeting the Water Tribe. 

Zuko had hated Oro and Renmin, but for a General to do this... 

It was barbaric. 

General Fong regarded Zuko, green eyes taking their time as they looked over every inch of him, before he lifted his hand. Suddenly, the two patches of earth in the floor surged forwards into short stumps, wrapping around Zuko’s wrists and pulling him to stand in the middle of the cell, restrained. The stumps started sinking into the ground, and Zuko was forced to his knees, glaring up at Fong helplessly. His chest heaved with his terror, heart running like if it raced fast enough at least _some_ part of Zuko might escape this. But it didn’t and he couldn’t. 

“I have been preparing for your arrival for some time now, Prince Zuko.” General Fong said levelly. He moved and Zuko’s entire body flinched away from him, but he was incapacitated, and Fong’s fingers traced his scar, touch surprisingly gentle. The blood in Zuko’s mouth tasted more poignant than ever and it was choking him and _he couldn’t get away_. 

“I have already drafted a letter to the Fire Lord.” Fong said, fingers moving up to Zuko’s hair, twirling tight enough for Zuko to feel a sharp sting. “Now you’re here, I can begin negotiations with him.” 

Zuko worked his jaw before spitting blood at Fong’s feet. “He won’t give you anything.” He hissed, but his voice trembled, and his terror was so overwhelming that it was pathetic to even try and mask it. Father would know. Father would finally know. _Suffering will be your teacher_. Perhaps this was what he meant. 

Fong smirked, suddenly clutching Zuko’s hair in his fist and pulling him back to look at him directly. “You are his firstborn, his heir, his son. Of course he will heed me. Combined with the knowledge you have from life in the palace, and you are the most valuable prisoner in the entire four nations. You will tell me everything you know, and the Fire Lord will cooperate.” General Fong’s demeanour turned cold, sharp, angry, and Zuko wanted to cower, lower his gaze like he’d learned to at home, but Fong’s grip wouldn’t let him. 

“I’m going to end this war.” Fong snarled. “And you will help me.” 

Zuko shook his head sadly. “I can’t help you.” And the irony was that he wished he could. He wanted to tell Fong of his own decision to try and end this war, of what he’d learned with the Water Tribe, of the things he’d seen in the Fire Nation that he knew were wrong. But he couldn’t. This man wouldn’t listen. This man killed his own men. Zuko was back to being looked at like no more than an _ashmaker_. It was hopeless. 

Fong finally let go of Zuko’s hair, but he was pulling out a knife before Zuko could relax. Zuko jumped back against his restraints but the earth was steady and unmoving around his wrists. 

“You can help me and you will. You don’t even have to do anything just yet.” Fong said sweetly, grabbing Zuko by the hair again. Zuko's teeth ground together as Fong stepped closer. “I need proof that I really have you, you see. I need to start as I mean to go on with the Fire Lord. Just hold still now.” 

But Zuko didn’t hold still, because he realised like a lightning bolt through his body what was about to happen, what he couldn’t stop from happening. 

“No!” He screamed, and he fought and he pulled away and even when Fong backhanded him, nails tearing up the cut on his jaw that had just begun to close, Zuko didn’t stop. He wrestled the earth clamped tight around his hands and he tried to call forward a flame and was only met with sparks. The blade sliced his scalp, Fong cursed, yanked the ponytail tight, and then the sound of hair being severed was the only thing Zuko could hear. 

When Fong released him, Zuko could only stare at the floor, panting as he watched charcoal black strands fall down, down, down. His neck felt cold. He felt cold. There was humiliation in this, he knew that, but this ran deeper. Zuko’s hair represented all that he was – Mother, Father, honour – and now it was just... gone. Dishonoured. Abandoned. Banished. The title of Fire Prince now sat in the cruel fist of a General who didn’t even know what it meant. 

Zuko might have been crying, or seething, or... or nothing. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. His heart thumped uselessly in his chest, shaking his weak ribs. He felt like a bruise. 

Fong nodded, like he was admiring his work, before opening the door. Zuko thought he was finally leaving at first, but a few minutes later, the man returned, a pile of clothes in hand. 

“Get dressed.” He ordered, throwing the pile at Zuko and momentarily releasing the earth from Zuko’s wrists. The clothes were scratchy; a simple grey tunic and trousers. Prison clothes. No colour. No nation. No loyalties. 

“Get out." Zuko hissed, because he was not yet so far removed as to get dressed in front of this monster. 

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Fong sneered, but even though he left, Zuko could still see him in the corridor. He got dressed as quickly as he could, stripping the blue from his body, trying not to think too much on it, on anything. He considered throwing the clothes at Fong, some petty defiance, but wound up folding the Water Tribe clothes instead, carefully smoothing them over. He knew he’d be checked for weapons. He didn’t have any, but he hid his pai sho tile in a small inner lining of his prison tunic. No weapon would fit there, but a game piece could just about manage. He wouldn’t risk them taking it. 

Zuko heard footsteps coming from down the corridor, and through the bars he just saw General Fong quickly wrap Zuko’s hair in fine green fabric, pocketing it as someone arrived. 

“General.” A deep voice greeted. “Colonel Tovah is approaching the gate.” 

Fong hummed, considering something. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He said, tone authoritative. “Fetch the warden for me. Our men captured this Fire Nation soldier. I want him put with the others.” 

Zuko heard shuffling, and then the Lieutenant was leaving. Fong returned to the cell with a torch in hand, and Zuko felt his stomach flip when the General touched the flames to Zuko’s pile of blue clothing. They burned quickly to ashes. Zuko could only watch. 

And then the earth rose and wrapped around his wrists again, and he was back on his knees. Zuko just managed the effort to lift his head a little, glaring at Fong. The movement made the cut on his head drip blood down his exposed neck, sliding beneath his new clothes, dribbling between his shoulder blades. 

“Soldier?” He croaked pathetically, hatred sanding his naturally raspy voice into something hoarse and bitter. 

“This cell isn’t built to hold Fire Nation royalty.” Fong explained simply, like this was a normal conversation, like Zuko wasn’t kneeling and shorn. “This base has a level dedicated to people like you. Political prisoners. Most are Fire Nation, some are Earth Kingdom traitors. All feel betrayed by your family, Prince Zuko. It's in your best interest to keep your anonymity." Fong’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "If they knew who you were, they’d tear you apart.” 

Zuko could do nothing but stare, insides turning within him. He'd spent three years travelling the world in search of the Avatar. He knew he was hated for being the Fire Prince, for representing a thousand different tragedies. He'd been shown that in blinding luminosity with the Water Tribe. _Prince of the Fire Nation_. Prince of the nation who killed Hakoda’s wife and forced Tomkin’s parents to leave him and sent Lee into a fray he couldn’t handle. Prince of hatred. Prince of pain. And now he was being told there were Fire Nation prisoners here too. Political prisoners. Soldiers, officers, anyone who might know something. His own people rotting in some Earth Kingdom prison, resenting their Prince who didn’t even know they existed. Zuko would hate him too. 

Fong wanted Zuko’s anonymity for another reason, Zuko could tell. He could see it in the cold green eyes of a man who didn’t flinch when killing. But Zuko knew it didn’t matter. Fong was right. He'd be torn apart as the Fire Prince. He had to be ambiguous, a drop in the ocean. He had to fade away until he could find a way out of here, not put a target on his back for prisoners and wardens alike. 

“I understand.” Zuko muttered weakly. He could feel Fong’s stare, eyes leaving scars in their wake. 

Zuko’s gaze had focussed on a single strand of black hair on the floor, by Fong’s shoe. Long, silky; he had his mother’s lovely hair. That's what everyone always used to say, at least. After he refused to fight his father in the Agni Kai, Zuko had taken a razor to his head, that pitch-black hair falling like shadows upon his shoulders. He shaved it to his scalp, fitful and feverish, half of his face still bandaged. He was going to shave all of it. He didn’t have to, but he was going to. Being banished felt akin to dying, and he would burn this chrysalis of weakness if it gave Father the strong son he wanted. But then Zuko had paused. The topknot was sacred in its own right, but it was also all Zuko had left of Mother. _You know_ , Uncle had said, and Zuko hadn’t even heard him enter, _you have illustrated humility enough. The ponytail can stay_. And being told it was alright to have this single indulgence was all Zuko had needed, because he’d listened, put the razor carefully down, and kept his mother with him. 

Until now. 

“You have been forsaken by the Spirits.” Zuko whispered before Fong could leave, because that was something Uncle would say to a man like this, something the Water Tribe would say, because Zuko couldn’t figure out what it was _he_ wanted to say, couldn’t even figure out who he was. “This,” Zuko swallowed, and he felt the blood on his neck, looked at the hallway where two loyal men died, “is irredeemable.” 

Fong shook his head, finger tapping beneath Zuko’s chin. “Redemption is a human word, Your Highness.” He said, voice cold. “We forged it ourselves. The Spirits gave us all this, but mercy is one thing they know nothing of.” 

And then he was leaving and the door was slamming shut behind him and Zuko was alone with nothing but ashes and, _oh Agni_ , he was so, so scared. 

____ 

“So let me get this straight,” Bato said, pinching the bridge of his nose, an ocean breeze sweeping through the tent, “you kidnapped the Prince of the Fire Nation and arranged to transfer him to General Fong in return for a restored alliance. A brilliant plan; very tactical and clever. Well done. But then, _then_ ,” Bato let out a dry chuckle, “you thought using your brain was too boring, and instead you were going to, what? Lie to Fong, keep the Prince, and initiate him as part of the Water Tribe? And now he’s _gone?_ ” 

Hakoda and Kanut didn’t respond from where they both sat at Hakoda’s desk, looking like they did when Kanna used to berate the trio, except back then, they lacked the anguish so blatant in their eyes now. The two men wanted to move, to plan, to _do something_. But Bato wasn’t letting anyone go anywhere until he figured out what on _earth_ he’d walked into. 

“He was just a kid, Bato.” Hakoda said softly, before frowning, swallowing. “ _Is_ just a kid.” 

Bato rubbed a hand down his face. Tui and La help him. 

“I expected this from you.” Bato pointed at Hakoda, who once tried to bring a polar wolf home because it was injured. “But you,” Bato turned to Kanut, who so usually sided with him on the off chance Bato wanted to be logical, “have forsaken me.” 

“Are you done with the amateur dramatics? Would you like a spotlight? Perhaps a stage? No?” Kanut’s glare was cold. “Then can we _please_ start talking about what we do now?” 

Bato thought that was wildly unfair. It wasn’t like he’d been gone for months, had suffered a serious burn, had wasted away to boredom in a Spirits-damned _abbey_ while his crew frolicked with the Fire Nation. No, of course not. And he _certainly_ hadn’t travelled miles and miles of the Earth Kingdom’s weirdly green terrain just to see his men again. But sure, _sure_ , his homecoming would be crashed by some royal, enemy _child._ No one had even asked to see his scar yet. Not even _Tomkin._

But as Bato went to make a joke, the urge to place the back of his hand to his forehead at the unjustness of it all filling him, he took a closer look at his friends. 

He'd known Hakoda and Kanut for as long as he could remember. He knew Hakoda broke his collarbone falling off a canoe when he was sixteen and some days it still ached. He knew Kanut liked tea so much because it was something warm to hold when his scarred hands begun to shake. He knew that when Bato was eleven, the three of them snuck out into the night, giggling and pushing at each other as young boys do, and they set up a tent outside of the village. It had felt like an adventure at the time, like they were miles from home. And they sat together and stared at the stars, at the moon, and Kanut had a book because he always had a book, and he pointed and explained. Nuuttuittuq, the North Star. The one that never moves. 

“Do you think we might be North Stars?" Hakoda had asked quietly. There'd always been a gentleness to him, as well as strength. 

“That makes no sense-.” 

“Well, I'm not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bato smirked, cutting off Kanut with a nudge. Kanut used to be so blunt, so cold. Mean, almost. Mean, because he knew he had to go home soon. 

“Yeah,” Hakoda had smiled, “I’m not going anywhere either.” 

And they’d stayed out all night and slept in a tent made for one, all legs and elbows, and when they came home, Bato’s parents were furious and Kanna had her hands on her hips and Yutu didn’t care. But it didn’t matter, because at the time, it felt like they were three boys holding up the sky together. At the time, they were immovable. 

And now as Bato looked from Hakoda to Kanut and back again, Chief to Angakkuq, brother to brother, warrior to warrior, he saw that same gentleness to Hakoda and that same bluntness to Kanut. This Prince had left his mark on them; they’d planted their feet and, oh Tui, they weren’t going to move. 

Bato sighed loudly and dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he huffed, “I guess we ought to think of a plan.” 

____ 

The earthbender girl had gone home surprisingly easily, leaving Tomkin and Nanook behind with no less than three threats about what she’d do to them if they didn’t find ‘Prickly’, but her tone had been tired, young, _scared_. Tomkin was scared too. Hakoda, Bato and Kanut were talking in the Chief’s tent. Tomkin couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had so clearly excluded the other adults, but he knew that it only ever happened when things got serious. Which meant, until they decided something, all Tomkin could do was wait. 

He usually felt better being with people, so he surprised himself when he instead found himself sat on the sand, knees tucked to his chest, watching the waves push up the beach towards him. _That’s how the original waterbenders learned, Tom. Did you know that?_ His mother’s soft voice. _Watching how Tui pushed and pulled the waves._ He missed her and he missed dad and he missed Zuko and he was scared. 

Tomkin sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and he tried to remember how tough Zuko had been when they first met. It had been difficult back then, but now it was comforting. Zuko was a survivor, and he would survive this. Whatever _this_ was. Tomkin didn’t know what happened to Zuko, and he didn’t know if that was worse than knowing. He knew he was taken, probably as a prisoner of the Earth Kingdom, and he knew Hakoda suspected Fong. He knew that meant Zuko wouldn’t be killed, and that was the only reason Tomkin was even bothering to try and stop the tears. There was hope. There was always hope. 

“Hey, Little Tom.” Nanook’s voice sounded, and Tomkin quickly rubbed his face as the other boy sat down beside him. 

“Hey.” Tomkin said weakly, but they both knew something was missing. It was so strange. For years, Tomkin and Nanook had been happy. In the South Pole, there was only a handful of kids around their age, and then on the Ullaakut, it was just them. They were as familiar with one another’s company as they were the ocean. But now, despite all those years, it felt suddenly lacking. 

“What you got there?” Nanook asked, the bead in his hair swinging as he nodded at what Tomkin clutched in his hands. 

“Oh.” Tomkin said, head tipping limply as he remembered what was in his lap. A scroll, the parchment fine, expensive enough to cost the little money Nanook had entrusted Tomkin with. “It’s... um. I bought it when we were in the market. A playwright’s autograph. It was for-… to apologise-… I-.” 

And then Tomkin couldn’t talk any more, his throat tightening, and it was all he could do to bury the butts of his palms into his eyes before he began to sob. It was unbearable. The tears that were so strong they hurt, the not knowing, the _fear_. It was tearing him apart and Tomkin didn’t know how to make it stop, didn’t know how to fix this. 

Nanook pulled him close, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and Tomkin cried and cried and cried. 

____ 

Hakoda took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, pushed back his shoulders, and walked out of his tent. He'd been talking with Bato and Kanut for a while now, going back and forth, arguing, and they’d finally come to a decision. It wasn’t what Hakoda wanted, but every time his heart twisted, every time he reminded himself of what he was about to do, he forced it down. He was a Chief right now. He was thinking of his men. He... he had to remember that. In his mind, he saw gold eyes, but they blinked and he pushed them away. _Chief_ Hakoda. 

He'd ordered his men to go back to their tents to retire for the night. All but five listened. He knew they wouldn’t. He could see Tomkin and Nanook sat down the beach, and he knew the pair would need to handle this together. They'd lost a friend tonight. 

But the other three men before Hakoda had lost something different. 

“Well?” Tulok asked, standing from his place around the campfire. Chena was glaring, and Aput’s gaze flicked slowly between Bato and Hakoda. Kanut wasn’t with them. He wasn’t talking to them. His last words to Hakoda had been scathing before he stormed off into his own tent. 

“I think we all know General Fong must have done this.” Hakoda said levelly, keeping his voice devoid of emotion. Chief. Chief. Chief. “He is one of the most powerful men in the Earth Kingdom, and now, he has Zuko." 

Hakoda regretted saying Zuko’s name, because it made his breath tremble on the inhale. This felt like treachery, like betrayal, like swearing to keep someone safe and turning his back on them when they needed him. And it felt like that because that was exactly what he was doing. But Hakoda had no choice. 

Bato noticed Hakoda’s lapse, and quickly took over the explanation. 

“We don’t have the men to overpower Fong. It's that simple.” Bato said, and it came easier to him, because he didn’t _know_ Zuko. “Trying to get the Prince back by force would lead to us failing and losing lives in the process. We could try and write to Fong, barter, even threaten,” Bato flicked a glance to Kanut’s silent tent, because that had been the Angakkuq’s idea, “but this kid is the Prince of the Fire Nation, and Fong will understand that significance. He won’t just give him up. Best case scenario; we don’t get the Prince and Fong cuts the alliance. Worst case scenario; we start a feud, a war within a war, and we _still_ don’t get the Prince.” 

“Wait a fucking minute-.” 

“I know it’s hard but-." 

“Oh absolutely _fuck no_.” Chena was on his feet now, expression appalled as he caught on to where Hakoda and Bato were going with this. Bato looked ready to defend his plan, that was a perfect mix of his political prowess and Hakoda’s tactical thinking, but Hakoda just wanted to shrink in on himself, ashamed. The plan was the only one they had, the only one that would work. He truly had no other choice, but Tui, it still stung. 

“Chena, we have more men. If we go to Chameleon Bay, we can revaluate, but as we are now, we’re barely on Fong’s radar. I'm sorry but there’s nothing we can do.” Bato said calmly, even as Chena stomped towards him, which wasn’t a comforting sight for anybody. 

“That’s your big plan? You swan in here just to tell us to abandon the brat to whatever stupid cell he’s got himself locked up in? That's _it?_ ” Chena snarled, and he was getting in Bato’s face now. 

Hakoda needed to step up. 

“Yes, Chena, that’s it.” Hakoda said sternly, and Chena must have heard Hakoda’s shift in tone, because he drew back a little. “I hate this as much as you do, and if I could, I'd drop everything and go to Fong on foot if that was what it took to get Zuko back. But we are a tribe, and we are at war, and if we want to help him at all, we need to be clever about it. Bato's right; our best bet is getting to Chameleon Bay.” 

Hakoda saw Chena’s grey eyes narrow, and then widen as he realised in horror that Hakoda was right. It was the law of nature and rule of the ice. If someone wanders into a snowstorm, you cannot save them by following and getting lost too. Instead, you wait for the storm to pass, and go after them with food and blankets. 

That didn’t make the helplessness any easier. 

“They won’t kill him.” Aput said factually, tone grim. “He’s a prisoner for a reason. Fong has only ever wanted him for his connection to the Fire Lord.” 

Tulok sat back down slowly, red-rimmed eyes staring into the campfire. “Yes,” he said, “but there are worse things than death.” 

____ 

Fong didn't come back but another man did. This man was tall and thin and reminded Zuko of a spider; skeletal and unsettling and weird. He wore a green uniform, and his hair was brown and greasy, mud-like, and then there was a blindfold covering Zuko’s gaze and the last thing he saw of the man was a flash of too-white teeth as he grinned. 

Zuko was dragged down corridors and stairs. He could feel Agni getting further and further from him, that distant warmth slowly waning with each step. Zuko had never been this deep below the earth before. He knew so much even with the blindfold that made him stumble over his own feet. Only earthbenders could bury so low, and they only had one reason to bury so low. Firebenders drew power from the sun. Down here in the bowels of the fortress, a firebender would slowly shrivel into hollowness. Zuko couldn’t even tell what time it was. He couldn’t feel Agni. This wasn’t how it was in the South Pole, where the sun was dormant but still breathing within him. This was different. Everything warm in the world had been doused. 

“Another soldier. Fire Nation.” The spider-like man growled from beside Zuko, thin fingers clutched in his arm. Zuko’s lip was bleeding again from trying to fight the man off. He'd tried to summon a flame, _anything_. Nothing came. Not even sparks. 

Someone grunted in response, and then a metal gate was screeching open and the blindfold was yanked from Zuko’s eyes. 

He was terrified about what he’d see once the blindfold was removed. He hadn’t expected to be met with more darkness. Disorientated, Zuko peered at the shadows. They were moving. And then a flame exploded to life and Spider was suddenly holding a torch, and those shadows weren’t shadows. 

“Good timing, soldier.” Spider snarled in Zuko’s ear. “It’s feeding time.” 

Zuko was shoved forward, stumbling to the floor, his hands moving just in time to save his nose from being smashed. He was in a large, domed room. The walls and ceiling were lined with metal but the floor was earth, was damp, was bloody. Zuko crawled back in horror, and heard a snicker. 

He wasn’t alone in here. 

There were people, if you could call them that. About a dozen, all cheekbones and ribs, eyes like black bruises, bust lips curled back; wild. But there were no chains, the prisoners were just... loose. The smell was indescribable, all blood and sweat and faeces and pain. The prisoners here all looked the same at first; grey-clad and lifeless. But as Zuko got more accustomed to the darkness, he noticed small differences. A group of three large men sat in one corner of the room, their hair ragged and falling to their ribs. When Zuko looked at them, they tensed, looked close to pouncing. He looked away. In the opposite corner, to Zuko’s churning horror, were two boys. One was around ten, but the other couldn’t have been older than five. They had _children_ down here. Zuko turned to glare at Spider, but the man was already glaring right back, before he threw the lit torch into the middle of the room, fire chasing darkness up the wall. Every single prisoner flinched except Zuko, and he felt dread pool in his stomach. 

“Lunchtime!” Spider called, and he was still grinning, even as he threw a stale baguette into the middle of the room, and Zuko found out why none of the prisoners were chained. 

The three men in the corner leapt forward without hesitation, and Zuko just managed to scramble back against the wall before he got caught in the most feral display of fighting he’d ever seen. There was no technique, no forethought. This was all instincts. One man scratched at another’s eyes, one bit another’s arm. It was like watching animals. Finally, the biggest man with the longest hair grabbed the baguette, tearing a piece of it off with his teeth, and the other two bowed their heads, defeated. 

Zuko was going to be sick. 

Distantly, he noticed two small shadows slowly slipping towards him, and he could feel someone nearby when Spider doused the torch and walked away, abandoning Zuko to this cage of animals and darkness. He didn’t know how much time passed after that. Zuko thought of Father, of Hakoda, of Kanut, of Tomkin and Nanook. He thought of how angry Chena would be with him if he could _just_ walk back to the camp. He thought of Aput rolling his eyes and Tulok sighing in relief. Zuko thought of those men, willing to kill each other for a stale piece of bread. Zuko would never stoop that low, he decided. He would not resort to barbarianism just to _survive_. 

“My name’s Lanse.” A sudden voice whispered, young and nervous. “This is my little brother, Zi Se. We're Fire Nation too.” 

Zuko squinted, slowly getting used to the pitch black, and managed to just about see the two little boys he’d noticed before. The brothers were skinny and pale, their hair black and shorn just as Zuko’s had been. They hadn’t been here long. That was good, at least. Lanse looked no taller than Zuko’s ribs, and Zi Se-. 

Zuko’s innards twisted like he’d been stabbed. Zi Se was tiny. Zuko could probably carry him around and not feel a thing. The kid would only reach his waist, if that. He didn’t seem as welcoming as his brother, curling in on his small body, glaring with too much malice for a kid his age. 

“What’s your name?” Lanse asked when Zuko only regarded them. 

He didn’t want to talk. He certainly didn’t want to squander his chances of survival by making friends here. But Lanse seemed so desperate for conversation, and they were just... they were just children. 

“Lee.” Zuko said quietly. After all, there were a million Lees. 

Lanse smiled. “Are you a soldier? My dad works with soldiers. He's a War Minister, you know. But he likes inventing things. He's good at that.” 

Zuko hummed, not really listening. “Yes, I'm a soldier.” He said with a half-hearted sneer. Lanse frowned, opening his mouth to question him, but then the gates were opening again, and Zuko shielded his eyes from the fire when Spider lit another torch, and again, everyone else flinched or shrunk away. 

“Where are Qin’s boys?” Spider snarled, glaring at each prisoner. Qin. War Minister Qin. Zuko sucked in a breath, connecting the dots just as Spider’s sharp eyes landed on Lanse and Zi Se. 

“Lanse.” Zi Se whispered, terror in his voice as he clutched his big brother’s arm. Azula had once done that to Zuko. Father had yelled at her, and she had never learned how to respond to that, so she turned to Zuko, who had only ever been subject to it. _You're okay, Azula. He'll calm down._

Spider didn’t look calm as he stormed over, and suddenly, he was grabbing Lanse roughly, tearing him from his brother. Zi Se cried out, reaching for Lanse, but Zuko held him tight, even as the small boy struggled. Zuko knew men like Spider, knew he wouldn’t mind hurting a child if the child bothered him. Spider looked so much like Ozai in that moment, as he held the terrified Lanse in place. 

“We have just received word from the Northern Air Temple.” Spider hissed, ignoring how Lanse cowered. Zi Se shoved a foot into Zuko’s stomach but still, he held tight. “There was a battle. The Fire Nation attacked. _Did you know anything about this?_ ” 

“I already told you everything we know.” Lanse hissed, and to his credit, he sounded firm, angry, brave. “Father never let us anywhere near his work.” 

“ _Liar_.” Spider growled, and Lanse’s breath caught. 

“Leave him alone.” Zuko said, because he couldn’t take it anymore. Zi Se froze in his grip. 

Spider cocked his head, before throwing Lanse behind him. Another soldier caught the boy, holding him by the arms. Lanse's eyes were wide and amber. 

“You dare give me orders?” Spider whispered, and Zuko glared right back at him. He'd take any punishment this man gave him. He wouldn’t stand by and watch this helpless child be bullied by some sadistic warden. 

When Zuko only held the man’s glare, unrelenting, Spider relaxed his shoulders, lips curling up. 

“For your lies and insubordination,” Spider spoke loud enough for the other prisoners to hear him clearly, but then he turned to _Lanse_ , “you will be punished.” 

“ _No!_ ” Zuko yelled through a hoarse throat, lunging forward only for Spider’s fist to smack him back down to the floor. Lanse screamed as the soldiers dragged him away, and Zi Se cried and begged them to stop, but as quick as they came, the Earth Kingdom men were gone and the prisoners were drowned once again in shadows. 

____ 

The Water Tribe packed up their camp in Gaoling; reserved, rigid, reluctant. Bato tried to tease and boost morale, but it was cut short by Kanut’s glares, Chena’s rage, Tomkin’s tears. As the Ullaakut sailed away and it solidified that Zuko wasn’t coming back, Hakoda clutched the rail, and he prayed and prayed and prayed. 

____ 

They never saw Lanse again. 

Agni didn’t come back. 

Zuko lived under a dead man’s name, fireless and abandoned. 

In another universe, Zuko stood on the Erlong with his uncle, and when they spotted a Water Tribe ship approaching, he didn't move. He stood strong as the ships approached one another, as they passed, as they moved on. Blue-clad men on deck were just nameless strangers and that night, Lee sang for music night. In another universe, Zuko escaped this. 

But in this universe, he was cold and alone. No one was coming to help. He was not the Prince of the Fire Nation and he was not Zuko of the Water Tribe. He was a shadow, a ghost, a haunting. 

He was damned, and days became weeks became months...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm suddenly me repeatedly bringing up the differences in hakoda’s and zuko’s leadership styles is making a lot more sense. Oh ‘protect the lives of the many’ is it hakoda? Im gonna cry. OKAY but if I see any hakoda hate in the comments I'll throw hands because this is the most difficult decision he’s ever had to make, and I needed bato to come in at exactly this point so he’d be unbiased and able to give sound political/tactical advice. Hakoda is the chief, at the end of the day. And he still has men waiting for him and he’s delayed and it’s bad enough that he’s made a shambles of the fong alliance, he cannot afford to fight the fire nation AND the earth kingdom. He has to prioritise his men before his own personal desires and he is SUFFERING because of it, so be NICE so help me god. 
> 
> how do we feel about this little development. honestly this chapter is so full idk if i like it. like we have oro and renmin, the hair, bato's lil storytime, TOMKIN, the crew having to leave, lanse :(((, like damn bitch pick a struggle tf.
> 
> im actually very sorry it's ending on such a depressing note but i promise it picks up lmao.
> 
> also you may notice there's still a 'next chapter' option. wonder what that could be.


	20. APPENDIX

Um. 

Hello. 

How the FUCK did we get here then. 

Okay so initially this little ‘appendix’ thing was just going to be to break up book 1 and book 2 so you guys could flick through it easier, but then galaxy brain said ‘fuck that! An opportunity to chat shit!’ and I couldn’t say no. So I have some Things to address quickly and where better place to do it than here, so let’s get on with it shall we. 

____ 

For starters, the obvious: THANK YOU. You guys are just???? Like I posted this fic back in august being all nervous and dumb and thinking nothing would ever come of it, and only a few months later here we are with an entire CULT (your words not mine). Like there’s been fanart and reviews and playlists and a VINE COMP and spin-offs and muffinlance fucking COMMENTED (how did she even get here I'm mortified). You guys really are just so funny and clever and I am using this appendix to officially announce that I am, in fact, a simp. There Is A Simp Among Us And Her Name Is Hella1975. My dumbass thought bullying you guys would make u realise that I'm really not that great and instead you went no <3 and just showered me with comments that have genuinely made me tear up (this is NOT on record and I will deny it to anyone who asks). So yeah, I know I'm wank at expressing emotions and I'm working on it or whatever, but you guys know me well enough by now to know that I truly, truly mean it and you guys mean the world to me. 

Okay ew, thank god that’s over. Moving SWIFTLY on. 

____ 

So, book 2. That’s a thing that’s happening now. I wanted to clarify a few little things about it just so we all know where we stand. 

**First** ; I don’t really do trigger warnings. Like I'm not taking a stand against them, I just genuinely forget what is or isn’t a warning and all that and my small brain can’t handle that. This fic has been rated mature from the beginning and I’m a firm believer in curating your own reading experience. If you know there are topics that you really can’t read about, please take care of yourself and either read with caution or hmu on tumblr 

**Second** ; okidoke so this has been on my mind for a while now. So as we all know, Salvage by MuffinLance is a masterpiece that needs to be framed and written down in history. It's brilliant. The Art Of Burning literally just would not exist without it. However, when I first started writing this story, it wasn’t supposed to take into itself as much as it has (bastard characters with bastard minds of their own smh), and I wish I'd been clearer on this from the beginning. It's pretty obvious that, sure, the first few chapters of taob are VERY heavily inspired from salvage, but after that it’s my plot all on my own like the big adult I am, and by book 2, there is no salvage in sight aside hakoda and the crew’s literal presence but like??? That can’t be helped. And I don’t want to sound bratty I really don’t, but I’d just like book 2 to be treated less as a salvage AU, and more as my own individual fic, if that makes sense. Like I'm happy to just accept that book 1 of this fic is always going to be seen as a salvage AU in people’s minds, like I get it and I've credited and I love salvage enough to not even be mad about that. But book 2 is literally all me (for better or worse lmfao) and idk I'd just like that to be... clearer? 

I’m chatting out my arse aren’t I. If you see me making no sense then no you don’t <3 

____ 

Next up on Hella Forces You All To Read Literal Nonsense In Some Fuckarse Weird Appendix: I thought it’d be really cute and quirky to set the scene better. A few people have asked what the timeline is with this in regards to canon, so I’m going to try and break that down. In the show, we aren’t really given any big dates. All we know is that all three seasons take place over the course of a year. This means my creative licence can literally go feral and no one can stop me (and yes this IS a threat to the smart ones among you who probably know something to contradict me right now). So for taob, season 1 of atla lasts around 2 months. So Zuko has a month of Happy Gaang Hunting right up until the Blue Spirit episode (which happens AFTER Bato Of The Water Tribe because I said so <3), then he gets snatched by the water tribe and has a month with them. Hope that clears things up for people, and as for season 2 and 3 of atla, I'll specify in my author’s notes whenever it’s relevant in a chapter. 

____ 

**Chapter titles!**

Okay so a few of my chapter titles are lyrics and shit and because we all know I LOVE ranting about that kind of thing, I thought it was only fair that I credit them here (I mean I should have credited them all ages ago but was too busy filling up my author’s notes with bullshit). And also just crediting so you guys don’t think I'm actually clever and came up with something myself when I didn’t lmaoo. 

Ch8: Choose Treachery; It’s More Fun – obviously a little cameo from Ember Island Iroh. My king. Doing god’s work my friend. 

Ch9: Fire And The Flood – my GOD Fire And The Flood by Vance Joy never fails to give me tom nook and zuko vibes you can tear it from my cold dead hands. 

Ch10: Ashes To Ashes – from Bowie’s Ashes To Ashes but it’s also a bible verse but then… Bowie. 

Ch14: After The Storm – was I being literal or was I referring to After The Storm by Mumford and Sons. Who knows. Not me. Certainly not you 

Ch17: All You Have Is Your Fire – hnnnnnnnnnnnnn Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier. That's it that’s the tweet. Bog man has my heart <3 

Ch19: Where The Stars Do Not Take Sides – i dare you to listen to 100 years by Florence & The Machine without thinking of atla. Bet you can’t. 

____ 

Finally, I thought seeing as the main reason I wanted to make this a series instead of One Big Chunky Bitch Of A Fic was because I wanted to do separate fic summaries, as the plots of book 1 and 2 are so wildly different lol, that I might as well just do the summaries here instead! 

**Book 1 of The Art Of Burning, blurb:**

Zuko had never excelled at anything. Azula was a prodigy. Uncle always knew what to say. And Father... Father was strong, iron-like. But Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. 

Which turned out to be pretty handy when Zuko was kidnapped by Chief Hakoda and his crew of Southern Water Tribe warriors, and survival became his sole objective. 

**Abridged** : Zuko is adopted by five himbos and two unruly youths. It's the found family for me your honour. Step by step guide to gently educating your adopted fire prince about his tyrannical homeland. Step 1: kill a child in front of him. Step 2: make amends. 

**Book 2 of The Art Of Burning, blurb:**

The Water Tribe taught him how to be Zuko, how to shed off the chassis of Fire Prince that had never quite sat right anyway. Their hands had been gentle as they eased it from his shoulders, as they guided his own fingers to pluck the crown from his hair. It had felt like his choice, his decision, with them. The Earth Kingdom took that gentleness from Zuko, and left nothing but pain, and rage, and a hateful spark in his eye that Father swore he lacked. 

He'd make them pay. 

Meanwhile, the Water Tribe fight the Hundred Year War while their hearts show the lashings of a different war. They searched for him, but the campfire had felt cold for too long now. They hadn’t expected that, when they saw Zuko again, it would be him coming to them. 

But this was not the boy they left behind. 

**Abridged** : Petition to hurl General Fong off the nearest tall building 2020. Zuko wants to get revenge but keeps being thrown into moral crisis by the stupid water tribe boy who hit him with a boomerang that one time. Seriously, Sokka, let the boy commit a murder or two. He needs it. Can't have SHIT in Detroit. Furthermore, the adoptee becomes the adopter, zukka but only when they’re done being stupid, the gaang rock up, and tom nook continue to carry this entire fic. Also Tovah <3 

____ 

Okay that’s that on that I love u all sorry for making everyone suffer in chapter 19 SIKE I'd do it again bop bop bop


	21. ii. Too Young To Know (Too Old To Admit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY WHORES! BITCHES! ABSOLUTE BASTARDS! WHERE HAVE U BEEN IT’S BEEN ALMOST THREE WEEKS THAT’S THE LONGEST I’VE GONE WITHOUT UPDATING SINCE FUCKING AUGUST OMG THIS HAS BEEN DIFFICULT IF I DIDN’T HAVE U DUMBASSES YELLING AT ME DAILY ON TUMBLR I THINK I WOULD’VE GONE INSANE WE MOVE. Hot DAMN I'm so excited for book 2 and you all know that means I'm _terrified_ of the response it’s gonna get. Be nice. You'll see pretty quick that we’re finally getting into canon, but I need you to know now that I took canon and then beat the shit out of it and now it’s a mutilated mess of jumbled timelines and vaguely familiar events, so if you see a scene happen sooner/earlier or just Different in taob then no you don’t <3\. As for our boy zuzu, I will be honest most of you already know that this chapter right here is gonna be Rough for him, but honestly?? After chapter 1, it really doesn’t get WORSE for him. So there. I offer you this olive branch of Bare Minimum. Basically if u can manage this chapter then you’ll be set for book 2. how exciting. Proud of you <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1H1aFfhdrsjrCK2bmtpTlT) I made for book 2 seeing as Tom Nook Made Me Do It was such a hit. I put a LOT of time into this bad boy, and each song has been allocated to a specific scene in the fic (I'll be doing lyric analysis on tumblr every time we hit a song in the playlist because I love music and you couldn’t shut me up if you tried). But yeah the songs are in chronological order and they’re all Relevant and what I'm getting at is that this is my baby and you should listen to it. ALSO THERE’S ANOTHER VINE COMP I’M SCREAMING [HERE](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/634080148642234368) GO FERAL 
> 
> Songs for this chapter are: My Cell by the Lumineers and Stubborn Love by the Lumineers. The chapter title is also a lyric by – you guessed it – the Lumineers. ‘hey hella that’s a whole lot of the Lumineers’ shut your face the whole way up this is my circus and I choose the clowns. 
> 
> Have a fantastic day you utter morons i missed u, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do xxx

When Zuko was a child, he used to sleep by the windows during monsoon season. Sometimes he’d get away with it, curled up beneath those thick, expensive curtains, the lightning flashing bright across his skin, rain curling its fingers down the glass. He liked the noise. It was wild, and there was something soothing in that. There was no complexity to rain. It fell where it fell. Neither good nor bad, simply _there_. No one ever tried to temper a storm. More often than not, though, Zuko would get caught. By the maids with their gentle voices, or if he was unlucky, Azula and her demanding touch. _What are you doing here, Dum Dum?_ Then there were the times he was lucky, when the hands that picked him up and placed him back in bed were his mother’s, warm and soft, blankets tucked around his chin again. _I can’t see the sky through the rain. I can’t see anything._ The worries of a child. _It’s all still there, darling. It's still there_. 

(Mother wasn’t still here. Neither was the sky.) 

The sun was the first thing that abandoned Zuko. From what he heard, the moon didn’t last much longer. The Earth Kingdom had coolers, just as Hakoda had once warned all that millennia ago. Tiny rooms that pumped frozen air through vents. Zuko spent his first week there. It was the last time he ever tried to hit Spider, but the death of that little boy, Lanse, had ignited him and he couldn’t help it. (Couldn’t help.) 

Zuko had been severed from Agni, but he still knew he spent a week, seven days, a lifetime, in that cooler. Freezing, teeth grinding, limbs locking. He knew it was a week because the warden made a comment as he walked Zuko back to the main cell. Red moon. No moon. _Only a week after hearing of the battle for the Northern Air Temple? So soon?_ Fire Nation getting too cocky, too bold. Taking too much. 

And then he was back in that cage of starved men before he could ask. (Not that he would.) (Not that he’d risk it.) 

He sometimes saw Hakoda, in the shadows, no more than darkness and two burning blue eyes. _If you come down now and go to bed, then I promise I’ll have General Fong agree to treat you fairly._ How childish. _No coolers._ How naïve. (And then Zuko would blink and Hakoda would be gone. He wasn’t coming. How childish, how naïve, of him to think he would.) 

Zi Se, Zuko learned, was five years old and competent. He hated Zuko, at first. Zuko, who told him again and again that Lanse had just been moved to another cell. Zuko, who held Zi Se back when he tried to fight. Zi Se had a lot of fight. He spoke little and thought much. He knew the threat posited by every prisoner, and when he finally tired enough to trust Zuko, he shared his observations. Putra; weak, stupid, won’t last. Chan; the one who won that first baguette, no longer a man but an animal, long hair. 

Hair used to represent something sacred. Now, it signalled where you sat on the prison’s hierarchy. Everyone was shorn before being thrown in here. The longer your hair, the longer you’d survived, the higher up you were. Zuko’s curled around his ears now, a few centimetres away from being shaggy. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but that was indicator enough. Too long. (Too late.) It had taken Zuko days of fighting hard, ruthlessly, before the other prisoners respected him in spite of his short hair. (Was it respect or fear? Was fear better?) 

He did know that it had at least been a few weeks since the coolers. It had to have been a few weeks, because Zuko _felt_ like he’d been here for years. He used to be able to tell the time to the minute, the feel of sunlight on the back of his neck, his soul in-tuned with his surroundings. Now, that felt smothered. More than smothered. (The South Pole had done this, once. To a much smaller degree, of course. That was ephemeral compared to this infinity.) 

Zuko shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t do well to think about that, _them_ , everything. 

If it had been a few weeks, then that meant he might have passed his birthday. Was he seventeen? Seventeen years a wreckage; it seemed fitting here. (Uncle had promised him new swords for his seventeenth.) (Zuko saw Uncle in the shadows a lot.) (No.) (It didn’t do well to think about.) 

In the beginning, Zuko honestly believed he could get out. The thought made a low chuckle break up his deep breathing, head lolled back against cold metal. It never quite registered in his mind that _this_ , this prison miles from Agni, this sentence, was permanent. (He realised soon enough of course. Fearing damnation and taking it by the hand came so slowly, like the moon phases. He barely noticed until it was too late.) 

Focussing on what lay _outside_ became too much. He was weak, shoulders unable to bear the weight of the sky he missed. A sky of colours, a rainbow of light, a family but not by blood, smiling and waving him back, welcoming. (Out of reach.) ( _It’s all still there, darling_.) So, he focussed on what he _did_ have. 

Zi Se, and a bloody, faded white lotus tile. 

The latter was no more than a hollow memory of a man that felt almost surreal after everything that had fallen between their paths, but the former was here, was vivid, was vulnerable. Zi Se wanted to be strong, but he was a child. Lanse had been a child and he died and Zuko had had to look Zi Se in the eyes and _lie_ about what he knew happened to his big brother. Zuko couldn’t help Lanse, but he swore the same would not become of Zi Se. (Zuko would figure out how to burn again if only to protect him.) 

“Does it work?” Zi Se’s now familiar voice sounded, scratchy and weak. He was far too clever for his age, far too careful. Even now, the clipped, childish tone of a five-year-old always pierced Zuko’s heart. Zi Se shouldn’t _be_ here. Neither of them should. He shouldn’t know the things he did. Zi Se should be loud and annoying and _five_ ; Zuko should have to hiss at Zi Se to speak quieter. But Zi Se wasn’t and Zuko didn’t have to, because Zi Se learnt just as quickly as Zuko that attracting the other prisoners’ attention was almost as bad as attracting the warden’s. (Almost.) 

“Hmm?” Zuko asked, sliding his gaze to the boy curled up beside him. The room was domed; nowhere to hide. Zuko and Zi Se sat in the same part of the wall they’d met at, leaning against it, like if they pushed their backs against it hard enough, they might just push through. (Might just get _out_.) Zi Se’s hair had been a shadow of stubble when they first met, but now it was black and scruffy, long enough to stick up in odd places, brushing his neck. His was neater than Zuko’s; he hadn’t struggled so much. When Zuko ran a hand through his own hair, he felt bumps, long scabbed-over scratches from Fong’s blade. (It hadn’t gained him anything, in the end.) (Sometimes it was better to give up.) 

“Meditating.” Zi Se said, eyes dark gold, almost brown, though that might have been the impenetrable darkness they lived in. (Zuko didn’t know if it was a good thing that he was used to it.) That darkness gave an air of ambiguity to Zi Se; what was real and what was the shadows? (The shadows of Zuko’s memory. Uncle and Hakoda and Kanut and Tomkin and Nanook and-.) ( _No._ ) What Zuko knew of Zi Se, he knew through flashes of terrified torchlight, through squinted eyes, and through whatever he could feel. Touch was a terrible thing. That was one of the constants of Zuko’s life. Zi Se’s small, curious fingers were the only ones he didn’t reel from. (But sometimes, he still flinched.) 

Zi Se knew Zuko had a scar covering half his face from tracing his small hands over him. Zuko knew Zi Se was so horrifically skinny from holding him close to try and keep him warm. It was the only way they could know each other, in this pit designed to isolate them. 

(And it worked, it did isolate them. Zi Se still thought his name was _Lee_ , for Agni’s sake.) 

“I’ve seen other firebenders do it.” Zi Se observed, because observing things was what he did. "You do it a lot, when you’re thinking." 

(And you’re always thinking.) (What else is there to do?) 

“Habit." Zuko said. Zi Se was a non-bender, though he was also only five. There was still time. (Not that they’d ever find out down here.) (Zuko thought about this little boy, this child, never seeing the light of day ever again, and then promptly stopped thinking about it.) (He was getting good at that.) 

“Can you teach me?” Zi Se asked, and Zuko found himself reaching over. He'd had the same thought process as this kid when he was first dragged here. Zuko hid his pai sho tile in the lining of his clothes, and Zi Se hid his necklace in his mouth until it was safe enough to put back on. ( _’Safe_ ’, Zuko almost scoffed.) His necklace was a delicate thing. A silver chain too long for his small body, falling to his navel, the pendant no bigger than a fingernail. A plum blossom, like the ones in Mother’s garden, and a butterfly on top. It belonged to Zi Se’s aunt. He stole it from her jewellery box only a few days before him and his brother strayed from their home in the Colonies, being captured by Earth Kingdom soldiers and never returning. They’d lived with their aunt. Zi Se’s father, War Minister Qin, was obsessed with his inventions, absent, and his mother died giving birth to Zi Se. 

Zuko twisted the pendant between his dirty fingers, barely more than bone. _Can you teach me?_

_You can’t meditate if you’re talking_. Three boys sat in the snow. _I'm talking because you keep talking._

So, so many shadows. 

“Maybe some other time.” Zuko said, closing his eyes. He hadn’t even realised he was mediating. It wasn’t like he had any fire to control anymore. He could hardly remember what it felt like, to hold his element, his chi, his soul. (Heartless.) But there wasn’t anything else to do down here except breathe and wait for the glow that signalled agony. 

As if hearing his thoughts, the hallway leading to the main cell lit up with the familiar orange and yellow flickering of a torch being carried. Zuko sat up straighter. Zi Se pushed himself closer; Zuko could count every rib. The other prisoners bristled. 

It was almost impressive, how quickly they’d taught Zuko to fear fire. 

____ 

It had been a chaotic four months, which was very almost a good thing. It's hard to stop and think amongst chaos. But still, Hakoda was only human. He still had to sleep. And the quiet peace of sleep always showed the same thing. Golden eyes. Screaming. Katara’s words. _How could you leave us? We were so lost without you._ Spoken by another. 

So much had happened. Fong took Zuko. The Northern Water Tribe was invaded, losing their Princess in place of Tui. They managed to scramble a victory. The Earth Kingdom was another matter. Omashu surrendered, and if getting Zuko had seemed far-fetched before, it was impossible after the coup of Ba Sing Se. The Earth Kingdom had fallen, the Avatar struck down, healed by Katara. Hakoda had been reunited with his children, and almost as soon as he was, they had to leave again. After two years apart, all he got with them was a couple measly weeks. A couple weeks of fleeing Chameleon Bay when it was overrun by Fire Navy ships. A couple weeks on one of those very ships, captured and used as their disguise, travelling west. A couple weeks of readying for the Day of Black Sun, Sokka’s own ingenious plan. Through it all, Hakoda barely got any time to just sit and _talk_ to his kids. 

And now they were gone again, leaving only the promise of a rendezvous behind. They were so young, but Hakoda almost hadn’t recognised them. Sokka, so tall, so broad, just turned sixteen. A handsome young man in place of the scrawny little boy Hakoda had known. Clever, funny, and always with one eye on his friends. Katara, as beautiful as her mother and just as brutal, her waterbending that had once struggled to raise bubbles from the sea being used to shove an entire Fire Navy ship. They were part of the war effort now, and it had splintered through Hakoda's heart like a shard of glass. 

This was the plan. 

The Earth Kingdom fell, and the Earth King all but ran away. Without his armies, they wouldn’t be able to mount a massive invasion force. Knowing this, Hakoda had almost gotten disheartened, but Sokka had already thought it through. The solar eclipse. It would incapacitate the Fire Nation, taking their firebending for long enough to defeat them. The invasion would be smaller, only a ragtag team of allies from around the various nations, but it could work. They just needed all the help they could get, which was what the Water Tribe crew had been tasked with. Hakoda's kids would stay with the flighty Avatar on his _air bison_ – Spirits, of all the things Zuko could have elaborated on... - until they met the crew at the rendezvous in the Fire Nation, and in the meantime, Hakoda and his men would travel the Earth Kingdom picking up allies. 

The rendezvous was days away, and Hakoda had one more ally to pick up. 

“You don’t need me to tell you that this is horrifically fucked up.” Kanut said from Hakoda’s side, staring out from the bow of the Ullaakut. Sailing on a Fire Navy ship had been arduous and confusing, and Hakoda was grateful they’d taken the initiative of anchoring the Ullaakut behind a rock formation until they picked up some waterbenders from a nearby swamp who were able to create a fog-cloud for them to travel in. It felt better to be back on their own ship. 

“But you’re going to tell me anyway?” Hakoda sighed, exhausted as the land of the western Earth Kingdom crept closer and closer with every push of La’s waves. He was always exhausted these days. 

“It’s the smart thing to do. We're lucky he contacted us.” Bato said from Hakoda’s other side, examining his nails, but his brow was furrowed. He'd realised months ago that this was one subject he couldn’t make light of. Of course, he only realised after a slip up with Chena that resulted in the two brawling on deck. Bato never stood a chance. Even now, his nose was still a little misaligned. He swore Kanut purposely healed the break wrong. Hakoda wouldn’t be surprised if the chilly Angakkuq had resorted to such pettiness; after all, they all knew how much Bato valued his looks. 

The Water Tribe had searched for Zuko. As soon as they reached Chameleon Bay, barely greeting their fellow warriors who had been waiting far longer than they should have, they started searching. They asked for information from anyone who would stop, they delved deeper into the Earth Kingdom than ever before, they desperately, desperately tried to be wrong. But it was hopeless. Every scrap, every hint, pointed to one man. 

“General Fong’s base has its own barracks of soldiers. It's one of the few strongholds still standing in the Earth Kingdom. He's volunteered an entire garrison. We need him, Chief.” Bato said, and Hakoda grit his teeth. He’d very purposely not sent word to Fong about the invasion force, despite the tactical side of his mind knowing the General could and would help. Bato had been furious, but Hakoda wouldn’t budge. Not on this. He hadn’t anticipated Fong contacting _them_ , offering his services regardless. Hakoda had taken a machete to that letter, tearing it to ribbons. It wasn’t enough to scratch the guilt from his skin. 

“Hypothetically, if we kill him-.” 

“ _No_.” Bato hissed, cutting off Kanut’s monotonous threat. Kanut had become very monotonous these past few months, offering only dry sarcasm that often verged on being mean. Now, he stood staring from the bow, his white hair that fell to the base of his back, half tied up in a knot, swirling in the ocean breeze. His ashen beard was starting to grow longer than he usually allowed; small things like that were lost on him nowadays. 

“If he’s smart, he’ll stay at the base and send someone else to meet us." Hakoda said, trying to keep the snarl from his words, trying to blink away the images of crushing the General’s larynx beneath his hands. “You said it yourself; his base is one of the Earth Kingdom’s last strongholds. He'd be stupid to leave it unguarded.” 

Which was the only silver lining of all of this, because Hakoda didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself if he saw Fong in person. He remembered him vaguely; just another General, another hand to shake. Green eyes, brown beard, an air of pompousness, a strong grip. 

They stood like that in silence. The Chief, the Second and the Angakkuq; the Southern Water Tribe sailing into the bowels of war, inching ever closer, ever the more irreversible. Quiet moments like this always caused Hakoda to think of Zuko, of how antagonising the kid had been. Aput had said all those months ago that Fong wouldn’t kill Zuko, that the _Fire Prince_ was too useful for that. But Hakoda knew Zuko wouldn’t have gone down easy, he wouldn’t sit still for them, and four months was such a long time. What if... what if Hakoda was too late? What if he was so busy thinking of ways to save Zuko that he was forgetting to consider that there might not be anything left to save? 

_No._ They were meeting Fong’s garrison at a small island a few miles northwest from Kyoshi Island, and then they’d be at sea again, en route to Sokka’s rendezvous. Hakoda would see his kids again in a matter of days, and Sokka’s plan would work and the war would end and he’d find Zuko and they’d all be together and _everything would be just fine._ Everything would be just fine. He had to believe everything would be just fine. 

The hollow optimism swelled until the Ullaakut docked at the island, and then it burst, showering over Hakoda in something that burned. 

Because there, stood before two dozen Earth Kingdom soldiers, smiling like he was greeting an old friend, was General Fong. 

____ 

They never knew who was next, and that was debilitating. Every time those damned torches ignited the corridor, the first kiss of light the prisoners got in days, it was someone different. Some days the warden was bored, and picked on Putra because Putra always cried. Some days, they picked which prisoner depending on events of the war. When the Northern Air Temple was attacked, they took Lanse. When Ba Sing Se was infiltrated, they dragged out a prisoner who was a traitor to the Dai Li. If it weren’t so terrifying, it would be useful, a way for Zuko to stay in the loop, to figure out current events. As it was, he could hardly bring himself to breathe through a closed-up throat whenever that corridor lit up, because they never knew who was next, and because no one knew he was _Prince Zuko_ except Fong, not even Zi Se, which meant whenever it was Zuko’s turn, it was always after a summons from Fong, and Fong had a cruelty in him that made Spider’s idle jabbing look friendly. 

(Zuko broke so easily. He'd always broken so easily. Except now, he lacked any opportunity _to_ break. He didn’t have the information Fong asked of him. If he did, he would give it. He'd give anything to make it stop.) 

The prison had a simple layout. However far down the main cell was, it was the lowest point of the base. It had to be; Zuko only ever went upstairs when he was moved. He couldn’t fathom anything being deeper than the main cell. The thought made his skin crawl. It shouldn’t be possible. Up a short flight of spiral stairs that Zuko pushed and stumbled up, joints aching, eyes squinting at every hint of light, was another set of cells. They were the same as the one Zuko was kept in when he was first brought to this base; all metal aside two patches of earth. Except the one Zuko was kept in when he was first brought here was _clean_. These ones were bloodstained and smelt of anguish. Not enough water in the world could scrub these sodden floors. The prison shoes weren’t meant to be sturdy or comfortable, and sometimes after a bad interrogation, he’d feel the blood soak right through. 

Zuko walked when he was told to and he let his arms be bound when he was told to and he didn’t think twice about leaving Zi Se because he knew that wherever Fong wasn’t was where it was safest, and right now, Fong was waiting for Zuko in the upstairs cells. Terror was so exhausting that it was a wonder how he still managed it, those birds in his chest half-starved and hysterical. 

Time evaded Zuko these days. (Weeks, months.) He’d blink and be in a completely different environment, or move his limbs with no recollection of deciding to move them, or sleep for what felt like days. A constant state of disorientation had wrapped around him and was tightening with every day, week, month he was in this place. He remembered the corridor flickering with torchlight, he remembered Spider’s crooked finger pointing at him, he remembered Zi Se’s squeeze of assurance, he remembered walking, he remembered mouthing off because that was what he learnt to do, learnt that being aggravating brought the beatings on him, not Zi Se. And suddenly, he was on his knees, hands encased in earth manacles, wrists rubbed raw, and there was Fong. Above him, leering, bloodthirsty. (And oh, he looked so much like Father sometimes.) 

“Your Highness, you don’t look well.” Fong sighed, tracing a finger over Zuko’s jaw. Zuko let his head loll back, body completely passive. (Fighting was too tiring and gained nothing. He learnt that the hard way.) (He needed to save his energy for mealtimes.) 

Fong grabbed Zuko’s chin, forcing him to make eye contact. Zuko’s stomach roiled. He knew what was coming, but it still sent his heart racing. 

“Your father still hasn’t contacted me." Fong said, his tone suddenly cold, metallic, angry. “I have sent him three letters now. Nothing. That must hurt, little princeling.” He sneered here, but his nails dug into Zuko’s skin. Zuko thought of Father, of all the years he spent justifying him, and then he stopped thinking about him. Fong taught Zuko a lot about Ozai. Father didn’t care, didn’t respond, didn’t stop what he could have. This existence was unforgivable, and Father was allowing it. (Hakoda hadn’t been lying, after all.) 

“I’m used to it.” Zuko husked. He never used to be mouthy. Azula was, and Uncle had his own wit, but Zuko only ever tapped into that side of himself as a defence mechanism. (Or when drunk.) He was Fong’s favourite prisoner, and Spider had it out for him. To protect Zi Se, Zuko had to keep it that way, and he did that with sarcastic quips, impudence, nonchalance. It was all hollow. 

“No matter.” Fong snarled, pushing away from Zuko. “I've kept prisoners for _years_ before.” Without his harsh grip holding him, Zuko’s head slumped forward, the earth pillars the only things holding him up. He distantly felt his tunic being stripped from him, breath hitched. 

“You know I don’t know anything." Zuko managed to mumble, words slurred because in the entire time he’d been here, he’d been of no use to Fong. Death was too merciful, though, no matter how often Zuko dreamed of it. 

Fong hummed. “I’m starting to believe you, Your Highness." Zuko’s bare chest was met with the frozen air of the cell, ribs protruding, skin scarred and butchered. He didn’t dare let himself look too close. “But I’m about to convene with an old ally of yours. I won’t be back for a while, and I want you to be good while I'm gone.” 

_An old ally_. Zuko released a hiccup of a giggle, almost deranged. Allies. What fucking allies did he have? Down here he had only Zi Se. (And the shadows.) (They were never quiet.) (Agni, Zuko wished they’d leave him alone.) 

The disorientation was foggy where the knife was sharp. For a second, he was kneeling before Fong, teeth grinding together as a blade slashed his back. (He ought to have ground his teeth to the gums by now.) The next moment, his half-lidded gaze blinked slowly, and Fong was gone. And then Fong was back, torch in hand, and Zuko couldn’t feel the fire but he could _feel_ it. He could feel it when it met his hand, his neck, his thigh, his abdomen. Agni, Fong thought it was so funny, the irony. Thought it was hilarious. and it sort of was, and now Zuko was laughing, delirious with pain, drunk on it. A guttural chuckle, bloodstained. Zuko wasn’t brave; he knew he would scream if he could. He used to. He screamed his throat raw, until he tasted blood, until he couldn’t talk. Now, he could barely keep his head up, and his hoarse laughter was as dry as the Si Wong Desert. Fong didn’t like it all the same. 

“If all goes to plan, your father might be joining you down here when I get back. But if not, I'll send him another letter in a week." Fong said, patting Zuko’s sweat-soaked hair, and Zuko couldn't bring himself to care about the implication of his words. “If he doesn’t respond to that, I'll start cutting off fingers. If only you had a signet ring," he teased, gently holding Zuko’s blistering hand, “that would be a good message, don’t you think?” 

It would. Fong wasn’t clever, he was just so unpredictably cruel that it led him to clever conclusions that others mistook for intellect. 

“You know, it looks a little like the top of a bánh gai.” And now Zuko was back beside Zi Se, each breath rattling through shaky lungs, plunged back into darkness. He knew he was supposed to be in pain now, but he just felt numb. Apathy was a coping mechanism, he knew that. But it _worked_ , and he’d rather feel nothing than feel agony. If he just focussed his little energy on keeping Zi Se alive, then he didn’t need to worry about anything else. (Anyone else.) 

“Your aunt make them?” Zuko asked, not sure how else to respond to being told the fresh burn on his hand looked like a type of rice cake. 

Zi Se nodded. He was sucking on his necklace again. He always did that. He said he wasn’t, but Zuko was accustomed enough to the darkness now, to the size of Zi Se’s specific shadow, to be able to tell, the same way Zi Se was able to just make out any new injuries Zuko had when he was thrown back in here, young eyes wide and sad and _scared_. Zuko could handle that. He could handle it, because when it was him being hurt, it wasn’t Zi Se. 

“Stop chewing that.” Zuko finally sighed, tugging on the necklace and pulling it from the little boy’s mouth. 

“Hey!” Zi Se hissed, pushing Zuko’s hand away. (Not the hand that was burnt by his own element.) (Not the hand that now apparently looked like Zi Se’s aunt’s _bánh gai_.) 

“Why’d you even like it so much?” Zuko asked, letting his head tip back against the wall. Agni, he was so, so tired. He let his eyes fall shut. Darkness on darkness. (No escape.) 

“It’s stupid.” Zi Se mumbled, and Zuko’s eyes shot open to look at him. He felt his heart tug painfully, the instinct to swallow all and any emotion suddenly choking and spluttering, shadows advancing. 

“I’ll decide that." He whispered, three words tearing apart the carcass of his soul. He saw Kanut. He saw himself. _He reminds me of how my sister used to be. It’s stupid_. ( _I’ll decide that. Come on, tough guy, tell me._ ) 

“Father said it was girly.” Zi Se sniffed, jutting out his chin. “He told me not to wear it. He said it was for girls. But I like it. So I hid it from him.” Zi Se twisted the pendant around his tiny fingers. “I’m glad I did.” 

And Zuko so suddenly and so poignantly remembered that sort of upbringing, that fatal distinction between _man_ and _woman_ and what was okay for either. It had been a noose around Zuko’s neck for years, like coils of burning flame snaking around his leg. Zi Se was only five, for Agni’s sake. He shouldn’t have to worry about that yet. (Shouldn’t have to worry about that at all.) ( _No._ ) 

“Well, I like it.” Zuko said, voice sterner than it had been in days, weeks, months, like he was expecting a fight. (Wasn’t he always expecting a fight?) 

“Really?” Zi Se asked, and he sounded so hopeful. 

“Really.” Zuko said, and he knew he’d cut down anyone who tried to take that necklace. 

(Blood was just blood.) 

(He was so, so used to blood.) 

Spider came back, torches in the corridor, and Zuko knew what came now. He'd already been out for an interrogation today, which meant the warden’s return could signal only one thing; food. 

Zuko rolled out his shoulders. Spider threw down the torch and the main cell was splashed with light. Zuko didn’t waste precious seconds squinting away from it, even when it stabbed at his gaze. He didn’t have time. He'd caught sight of Chan. Chan, who was as tall as Chena, hair falling to his ribs in ugly, matted locks. He was only in his thirties, but he’d been here the longest. Black hair was turning grey. He'd tear out Zuko’s jugular with his teeth if it meant food. 

But Zuko was hungry too, and Zi Se needed to eat. 

The humiliation of this, of scrabbling after scraps on the dirty floor, left Zuko after the coolers, after only a week of not eating. The hunger was relentless, his own body eating itself from the inside out. He would have killed for a bite of anything. (He still would.) 

“Hungry?” Spider taunted, holding a basket of bean curd puffs. Zuko didn’t make the mistake of looking at him. The other prisoners knew by now that the only competition was between Zuko and Chan. They took whatever was left. The guilt of that, of others starving for Zuko to eat, was a distant memory. His mind was too clouded by the present. Zi Se was all that mattered. 

Spider grinned, throwing the basket forward. Zuko watched the food fall, watched Chan snarl forward like a pouncing tigerdillo, and the next thing he knew, Zuko had lunged, hands wrapping around the other man’s neck. 

____ 

Tomkin had been overjoyed to see Sokka and Katara again. They'd grown up together. As kids, it was always him, Nanook, Sokka and Katara. Everyone else was years younger or years older than them. So naturally, they were inseparable. When Tomkin and Nanook had to go, it felt like their little group had been ripped apart. Tomkin knew Katara would miss them, and he also knew Sokka was a little jealous. For two years, Tomkin had wondered what their reunion would be like. 

He hadn’t expected Sokka to be as tall as him. He hadn’t expected Katara to be making goo-goo-eyes at the _Avatar_. And he certainly hadn’t expected to see the girl from Gaoling again, who pulled him and Nanook aside with a quick _’well?_ ’. Tomkin had tried to answer. He really tried. He thought he was getting better at dealing with it, but when he opened his mouth to tell the girl, Toph, that they hadn’t been able to find Zuko, that they’d tried, that Tomkin hadn’t slept properly in months, he just couldn’t. Nanook managed a choked _‘no’_. Toph understood. They didn’t speak of him again. They couldn’t. 

Tomkin also hadn’t expected the list Sokka handed him when they had to separate again. _Allies_ , Sokka had said, _for the invasion_. For the short second Tomkin was allowed to hold the list, he thought it was a prank, but then Nanook snatched it off him and Chena snatched it off Nanook and then Bato was handing it to the Chief, and Hakoda wasn’t laughing. But then again, Hakoda rarely laughed much anymore. 

The list featured names such as the Boulder, Hippo, Pipsqueak, the Duke, Teo – not to be confused with Tho – and a dozen others that Sokka and Katara and their little _gang_ had met during their travels. Combined with the warriors they reunited with in Chameleon Bay, and the Ullaakut was now accompanied by a fleet. Tomkin loved meeting new people – especially inventors and swamp people and ex-wrestlers and freedom fighters – but he was a little glad the Ullaakut had been reserved to its original crew. They knew the unspoken rules, like not to touch that one red book of Kanut’s, to never sleep on the left-hand bed in the infirmary, to appreciate the sun, to not question Chena when he stormed out of his hammock one night and proceeded to empty every bottle of rum over the ship’s rail, to never ask why the Chief carried a Fire Nation sword everywhere he went. 

Hakoda never told Sokka and Katara about Zuko. Bato frowned when he didn’t, but held his tongue. Tomkin got it, though. For four months, Zuko had been a haunting, a presence in each of the crewmen’s hearts. He was a memory of scarred skin and shy smiles and black hair and golden eyes, but never all four collectively. The crew had fragmented Zuko. It was the only way they could survive losing him. And they each held their fragment of him so close, skin cutting on the jagged edges. Tomkin loved Sokka and Katara... but this wasn’t something he was ready to share. He didn't think he’d ever be ready. 

So, he used the same excuses as everyone else. _They're too young to be burdened with it. So much going on with the war as it is. We’ll tell them later_. And then Tomkin would go to his hammock and trace his fingers against the autograph beneath his furs, and he’d hold it together. He knew grief. This was different. 

“Bored.” Tomkin said to the air, because he was getting dangerously deep in his head. 

“Suck it up.” Chena said immediately, and Tomkin pouted. 

The crew had been ordered below deck while Hakoda, Bato and Kanut – or the Troublesome Trio to Kanna – greeted the Earth Kingdom garrison they’d been supplied with. _Fong’s_ Earth Kingdom garrison. Everyone felt a little queasy, but they couldn’t make any accusations without proof, and they couldn’t affiliate themselves with the _Fire Prince_ at the best of times, let alone so close to the invasion. But Hakoda must have known that one of them - either Chena with his bad track record, or Aput with his quiet temper, or Tulok with his relentless loyalty, or Nanook with his protectiveness, or even Tomkin, who was feeling a very real anger that he hadn’t felt in a very long time – wouldn’t be able to keep themselves in check. So now they were all sat in the berth deck, scattered amongst the hammocks, gradually losing the will to live. 

“I mean it,” Chena broke the silence again, and Tomkin’s pout deepened, because it was okay for _him_ to talk, “if I see his fucking face, I'll crush it.” 

“You know you can’t-.” 

“If I wanted a lecture on politics, I'd talk to Bato.” Chena hissed, interrupting Tulok, who frowned, displeased with Chena’s attitude. 

Chena sighed, raking a hand through his long brown hair. “Just let me dream, would you? I gotta have _some_ plan for after the invasion.” 

“Do you think it’ll work?" Nanook asked suddenly, sat on the hammock next to Tomkin. “The invasion, I mean?” 

It was quiet for a few seconds. 

“I think it’s the best chance we have." Aput finally said when no one else put anything forward. “I think no matter what, we’ll give it our all.” 

Tomkin stared, throat tight. _We'll give it our all_. They would, wouldn’t they? Because that was what the Water Tribe did. They were fighters, warriors. A small tribe here to leave a big mark. They could grit their teeth through whatever politics was going on above them, and they could wait this out, and they could take down Zuko’s horrible father, and they could... they could get their friend back. Tomkin could get him back, could hug him, could laugh when Zuko elbowed him off, could finally give him that playwright’s autograph, could laugh again when Zuko’s snowy skin turned pink. It would be the three of them again, five with Sokka and Katara. A group. A family. _Safe._

“Tui and La, Aput, you been rehearsing that?” Tomkin asked with a small, fierce smile. 

Aput kicked him in the shin. “Shut up, Little Tom.” 

____ 

“Chief Hakoda!” General Fong smiled in greeting as Hakoda walked down the gangplank. 

Bato elbowed him in the ribs and Hakoda forced a smile. “General Fong.” 

Bato didn’t have enough elbows in the world to convince Hakoda to shake the man’s hand though, and there was a beat of uncomfortable stillness as Fong offered his hand before Hakoda’s Second swooped in, clasping it firmly. 

“We can’t thank you enough for your contribution.” Bato said smoothly. 

“It’s my pleasure.” Fong said. Hakoda was over a head taller than him. He could snap him in half if he wanted to, and Tui and La, did he want to. “I sense this war may finally be reaching its end, gentlemen. The tyrannical hold of the ashmakers will be over soon, starting with the royals.” 

Hakoda stood rigidly, Kanut just as tense a pace behind him. It was all he could do not to reach forward and grab Fong by his shoulders, demand answers, shake him until his teeth clattered together. _He's just a kid_ , Hakoda wanted to shout, to scream. But Fong had two dozen men stood in rows behind him, feet bare; earthbenders. Hakoda couldn’t attack their General, and he couldn’t attack him on the grounds of defending the enemy they were all here to defeat. But that was just it, wasn’t it? These soldiers didn’t spend those four weeks with Zuko, didn’t see his escape attempts, didn’t talk to him in their cabin, didn’t take him to the South Pole, didn’t hold him to their furs and promise to keep him safe, just to break that promise, just to abandon him, just to be _helpless_. Hakoda’s hands had been tied for four months now, and the man who secured the knot was stood a metre away. 

Hakoda couldn’t attack General Fong, but keeping his mouth shut was suddenly impossible. 

“Speaking of the royals,” Hakoda started, dodging Bato’s elbow, “you haven’t heard anything about them, have you?” 

Green eyes zoned in on blue, a silent realisation. Fong's smile was sanguine, but his gaze was accusatory. _You know?_ Hakoda kept his answer clear in the curl of his lip. _We've known since the beginning._

Fong swallowed before speaking, each word purposeful. 

“I have heard that the Princess Azula is quite a force to be reckoned with, and that Fire Lord Ozai grows crueller by the day. I also have informants that say the Dragon of the West was arrested for treason in Ba Sing Se, and by his own niece, no less.” Fong was building to something, and when his tone turned quiet, Hakoda held his breath. “He was there looking for his nephew. Prince Zuko, I believe. The Fire Prince hasn’t been seen in some time, though I have informants,” Fong paused, the slightest sheen to his forehead, “who assure me he’s alive.” 

Bato carried the conversation. Kanut quickly took off back to the ship, not trusting himself. Hakoda was rooted to the spot for a moment. He knew he should be listening, should be acting like a Chief, but he just couldn’t. He caught bits and pieces. Agreeing that Fong’s men would tail the fleet in their own Earth Kingdom ships, mentions that Fong had left his base in the hands of his most trusted Colonel for now, a sighed admission that he would only stay with the invasion force for a week, long enough to fight the battle but leaving the aftermath to the Water Tribe, before returning to his base. The barrage of words reared over Hakoda’s head in a wave, and he let it crash against him, unflinching, water dashing past him. In that moment, the war could wait, because his heart was finally sounding through the detritus of tragedy within him, his lungs salvaging full breaths. 

In a sea of words, he heard only two. 

_He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn katara bet you wish you’d gotten round to telling hakoda about general fong now. ‘Hey dad u know that guy that kidnapped zuko? Yeah he once buried me alive lol <3’ fong would be dead by now. Also the whole not-communicating-very-well-because-of-trauma is a little overused at the beginning of this but idc because I think it’s Accurate to how irl you’d deal with this kind of shit (so many stories where characters just?? Start talking about shit that’s upsetting to them with people they just met?? Or even with people they know very well they just?? Talk about it so easily?? Like aha no thanku people rarely work like that. Sorry ma'am but I haven’t discussed real emotions with a human being in months and prying me open with bolt cutters is the only way you can make me start <3), but also while I stand by it being accurate it is also VERY convenient for me and the plot I have planned and I won’t pretend otherwise. So suck it up <3 
> 
> Me reading on the avatar wiki page that fong canonically sends troops to help the day of black sun: oh now this is interesting 
> 
> Anyway there we go! Book 2 is well and truly afoot! Hope you like! I'm gonna peace out because I'm waffling out of anxiety but yeah. See you next **saturday** because we’ve moved the upload schedule from mondays to saturdays now. Weekend queens <3 (however this vastly increases the probability of me posting when drunk so I'm gonna apologise in advance for any tomfoolery you’re forced to endure)


	22. ii. To Crush A Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lil time jump at the beginning. I didn’t really want to write out the whole invasion because it’s nothing we haven’t seen before so just know that the first pov is set right after fong and zuko’s interaction from last chapter and right before fong and hakoda’s interaction, and then we jump to the second pov which is a few days later for the invasion. Cor blimey this chapter is so fucking eventful and i only realised when I finished writing it aka like 10 mins ago. My bad 😔✌️. Things are gonna pick up a lil from here. Like it’s gonna be angsty, but it's a different flavour of angst that I'm hoping is more satisfying? Idk we’ll see. Don't hate me <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love it when the plot outline runs away from you? The amount of shit that happens in this chapter that wasn’t supposed to happen until next chapter is just ridiculous. I feel betrayed by my own idiocy in this chilli’s tonight. Anyway song for this chapter is Way Down We Go by Kaleo and that really explains a lot I think. 
> 
> Have a fab day nerds and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do <3

Tovah was born on the summer solstice. Her parents were travellers, and she spent her time strapped to her mother’s back as they walked the Earth Kingdom. Growing up, Tovah would sometimes dream of her family’s history. Had they always been travellers? Had they broken the borders so instilled by this war? What wonders had they seen? The truth was, she didn’t know. On her fourth summer solstice in this world, her parents died. Simple illness took them, and Tovah was left alone. They were in Ba Sing Se - Tovah knew that much – but she was too young to know what happened next. She just knew she wound up in an orphanage, and that was where she stayed until she turned eighteen and they kicked her out. She was apparently a _problem child_ , because from the moment Tovah learnt how to sneak out, she set her mind on finding things. She couldn’t know her parents, her history, herself, but she _could_ know other people. She spent entire days sat on a street corner watching the world pass by. She noticed patterns, fashions, ways of walking, ways of talking, mannerisms, baselines. It was a hobby, more than anything. It passed the time; it made the gruelling days in that hopeless orphanage tolerable. 

At eighteen, she was left alone on the streets of Ba Sing Se with no possessions to her name and not a single contact that could help her. She hadn’t cared. Her whole life, Tovah had been alone, and she’d survived that way. That was what she learned when watching people. No matter who they loved or who they had around them, at the end of the day, humans will only ever prioritise themselves. That was why she never cared who she hurt in order to survive. They were all so forgettable; faceless memories that had once been briefly useful. She was only doing what they would do to her if given the chance. 

It was on the streets of Ba Sing Se, homeless and alone and fine, that Tovah turned her hobby into something else. She knew the sounds the city made at night and followed one that didn’t fit the pattern. She'd turned a corner and suddenly saw an elderly man being held at knife point, shakily handing over a bag of gold pieces to a tall, hooded figure. She had a chance, a second, to turn and run, but her gaze locked on the knife pointed at the old man’s throat, locked on the way it trembled ever so slightly. She stayed. The assailant spotted her. He didn’t threaten her, and she’d known from the beginning he wouldn’t. _A gold piece for your silence, girl_. 

Tovah took it. 

Tovah used it. 

Twelve summer solstices later, and she had all three rings of Ba Sing Se wrapped around her finger. She was as cold as iron and relentless. The hands that nurtured her had dirt beneath the nails, the smiles that graced her had blood between the teeth. Everything she had in this world, she got herself. She was a non-bender and a woman and an orphan and a peasant, but through wit and determination, she had pulled herself from her childhood’s barren hedgerows to reap the harvest of opportunity. Hers was a simple job; a game. She mastered it because she once had no other way of survival. Now, she played because she liked the taste of victory. 

Recently, however, that taste had soured in her mouth. 

Because four months had passed, and she still couldn’t find the Spirits-damned Fire Prince. 

Tovah had never been evaded before, never been escaped before. But this boy was a ghost. She got so close and then he just... vanished. Tovah interrogated and searched and watched but she found no trace of the two foot soldiers, nor where they’d taken Prince Zuko. And this was more than a game now, because that boy actually meant something. He was important, fundamental, to someone Tovah owed a lot to. _And she was failing._

“Colonel Tovah.” Fong greeted, and Tovah only cocked her head slightly. He was visiting her in her personal chambers. She didn’t usually stay at Fong’s base if she could help it, and had recently been dealing with what the fall of Ba Sing Se meant, if the person she needed had survived it, how to swallow her anger at the image of her beloved home under some petulant Fire Princess’s rule, but Fong had written to her urgently, and now she was here and he was in her chambers and he looked... nervous. 

“General Fong.” Tovah nodded. Her hair was long around her shoulders, a brush held in her slender fingers as she carefully ran the bristles through the black locks. This nonchalance was unsettling the General, but he was too pigheaded to comment on it. Tovah tried not to smirk. 

“As you know,” Fong said, expression closed off, “I will be joining Chief Hakoda’s invasion force later today, and I will be taking a garrison with me.” 

Tovah flicked her green eyes over the man before her. She knew all this. She'd decided it with him. 

“You are the only person I can trust with this base.” Fong continued, and Tovah quirked a brow. “After the surrender of Omashu and the fall of Ba Sing Se, the Earth Kingdom cannot afford to lose this too. I will be back in a week, but until then, I'm trusting you to run things.” 

Tovah’s lips curled up into a smile. Trust was given so easily, so fruitlessly. It only cost a single gold piece. She put down the brush, knotted hair now running smooth. 

“I won't let you down.” Deceit was cheap too. 

“No,” Fong smiled a little, friendly; stupid, “I know you won’t. The base will be vulnerable in these seven days. With the men I'm taking gone, all that’s left are a handful of soldiers, the warden and, of course, the prisoners. They are your priority.” 

That caught Tovah’s attention, because Fong had never seemed to care much for the prisoners. They were either Fire Nation or affiliated with the Fire Nation, and Fong had a hatred for them unlike anything Tovah had ever seen. He was obsessed with ending the war, but that had mutilated into hating every hint of the enemy he came across. He was half-deranged with it. 

He wasn’t asking her to watch over the prisoners for their safety, that was without question. There was something else. Tovah narrowed her eyes. Her chambers were lit dimly by candelabras, and Fong’s form threw shadows against the wall. She needed to get closer. 

“And what exactly does that entail?” Tovah asked, feigning interest, eager to please; all the mundanities a man of ego like Fong craved. Subtly, she stood from her chaise, turning her back to her reflection in the floor-length mirror and crossing the room to place the hairbrush in a drawer. He was barely two metres away now, barely watching her; oblivious. 

And just as she had at four years old, at eighteen years old, at thirty years old, Tovah watched. 

Fong's uniform was always spotless and without a crease. He was vain like that. He lived for his title as General; it only made sense that he worshiped the uniform too. But in the shadows of the flickering candles, Tovah noticed the green cape he wore was slightly charred at the bottom. It was a strange location for a burn. Tovah had only ever burnt her cape like that when walking down the base’s spiral staircases, catching the torches that lined the walls, but that was rare in itself, because the only thing down those stairs was the cells. 

Tovah kept her face expressionless as her eyes jumped to Fong's hands, but they were firmly behind his back in the usual militaristic stance he favoured. 

“The warden will take care of most of it.” Fong said, and Tovah very purposely crossed her arms before her. “I just need you to do headcounts and such. These prisoners are integral to the war effort.” 

Tovah hummed, half-listening, half-waiting, before Fong absentmindedly mimicked her, crossing his arms in front of him. People were always so predictable in their mannerisms. Her green eyes locked on his hands, and something clicked inside when she saw his fingernails were ever so slightly dirtied, and there on one of his knuckles, invisible to any except those searching for it, was a small speck of blood. 

Yes, Tovah would certainly be checking the prisoners, because it was now clear that Fong had been, despite never being so personally involved with the prisoners before. He'd been visiting and he’d been interrogating them himself instead of leaving it to the warden like he usually did, and now he was asking Tovah to keep an eye on them, and there was paranoia buried deep in his gaze. 

General Fong was hiding something. 

Or rather, _someone_. 

____ 

This was fine. 

Sure, Aang couldn’t find the Fire Lord and Azula toyed with them and used up all their supercool-firebending-breaking-eclipse time. Sure, they’d invented submarines to bypass the Great Gates of Azulon and now were watching their other invention fly towards them with the intent of destroying them. Sure, they’d gotten further than anyone had in a hundred years and it had still been for nothing. 

Sure, the Day of Black Sun had been Sokka’s plan, and it was a defeat, and this was _completely fucking fine_. Aside one tiny, miniscule, totally-going-to-have-an-easy-fix problem. 

“How are we all gonna escape?” Sokka asked. 

“We’re not.” Hakoda said, and that was not at all the answer Sokka wanted. 

They were stood on the hills of Caldera City, the sea only a few grassy fields away, the submarines parked up on the shore, waiting. The invasion had started off perfectly. There were two stages: a naval stage and a land stage. The naval stage went without a hitch, but things started going wrong in the land stage. They were supposed to fight past the Fire Nation battlements, secure the plaza tower, advance onto the Royal Palace for the eclipse and Aang’s epic battle with the Fire Lord. At first, things were looking good. Sokka even took out a firebender that was headed towards Chena at one point. And you know, Chena was _scary_ , so Sokka couldn’t help the burst of pride he felt when the large warrior clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his teeth. _Nice hit, kid_. And then Chena barrelled off to tackle another firebender, and it was just Sokka, Tomkin and Nanook. 

The three boys used to do everything together, and it was incredible how easy it was to slot back into that. Tomkin and Nanook had a smoothness to their interactions that could only come from two years of living in close quarters, but Sokka found it easy to join, a third puzzle piece to two already connected. With the three fighting side by side, it was like the past two years of absence, of loneliness and a small, bitter jealousy, had evaporated from within Sokka, leaving only three Water Tribe warriors, _friends_ , to move as one. Nanook was purposeful and perceptive with his attacks, focussing mainly on defending his tribesmen. Tomkin was quick and brash at Nanook’s side. And then there was Sokka, fitting in seamlessly as the tactician, moving them to where they could do the most damage, the guy with the plan. Because that was his title, right? His contribution to Team Avatar; _the plan guy._

This had been _his_ plan, and his plan had failed, and it was only as he saw the wide, wet eyes of the children around him, scattered amongst the warriors and Earth Kingdom soldiers, that Sokka remembered that they were just children. Children he had marched into battle. Children he had failed. And _Suki_. Even the thought of her twisted his heart. Suki had waited for him as she suffered through Azula, and Sokka hadn’t come. 

Yeah, nice try, but Sokka wouldn’t give this up yet. 

“Then our only choice is to stand and fight.” Sokka growled, turning to his dad. “We have the Avatar; we could still win.” 

Hakoda was being held up by Bato, and Kanut shadowed the Chief with narrowed eyes, clearly wanting him to stop moving but being ignored completely. Sokka tried to stay focussed like a true leader, but he couldn’t help but look at the way his dad held his torso, at the weight he leaned on Bato. He insisted he was fine, but well... he didn’t look fine. 

Sokka swallowed, looking back up at the people around him. The shade of Toph’s impromptu bomb shelter cut off the muggy Fire Nation heat for long enough that they could catch their breath a bit, but Sokka couldn’t wipe away the prickling dread on his skin. A lot of the invasion force were scattered on the hillside, leaving only a dozen or so with them here. Mainly Water Tribe, as well as Team Avatar, but also a few soldiers from the Earth Kingdom garrison General Fong had provided. Sokka hadn’t been eager to see the General again, whether they needed him or not. He'd been keeping an eye on Katara between fighting. Tui and La knew if she caught sight of Fong, she’d probably drown him on the spot. 

“Yes,” Hakoda said, and he was doing that I’m-your-father-and-I'm-right voice that Sokka hated, “with the Avatar we could still win. _On another day_.” 

Sokka’s stomach fell to his feet. He wanted to say something, anything, to shrug that horrible thought off. ‘ _Yeah, let's just reschedule with the Fire Lord, do you think he’s free next week?_ ' But suddenly his mouth felt dry. It was all he could do to shake his head. 

“You kids have to leave.” Hakoda continued, clutching his abdomen and making Kanut look close to bursting a blood vessel. “You have to escape on Appa together.” 

“What?” Katara asked, and her voice that was usually so infuriatingly strong trembled as she grabbed Hakoda’s arm. “We can’t leave you behind. We won't leave _anyone_ behind.” 

Sokka looked to Team Avatar. To his right, Toph stood, chin jutted forward, as stubborn and immovable as her element. To his left, Aang and Katara. Katara couldn’t tear her eyes away from Hakoda, and Sokka definitely didn’t scrutinise her to doublecheck she was truly okay after the battle and taking down an entire war balloon herself. He wasn’t _babying_ Katara, because he rather liked having all his limbs attached, but no matter how strong she was, she was always his little sister. And then there was Aang at her side. He just looked so... small. Small and scared and sorry. He was only twelve – minus the hundred years in an ice berg - and he was expected to defeat Fire Lord Ozai, and no one expected it more than he did. 

Sokka was the eldest and a warrior. They were his to protect, and he couldn’t protect them in a Fire Nation prison. 

If they left on Appa, they would be split up from the rest of the Water Tribe. _Again_. But Sokka stayed quiet, because a dawning horror was cresting over him as he looked first over his friends, and then to his dad’s heavy gaze. _The tactician, remember?_ Sokka told himself. _The guy with the plan._

They had to do this. 

____ 

Tomkin and Nanook were stood near the back, but they could still hear the Chief’s words loud and clear. They were surrendering, and Spirits, Tomkin was terrified. Because surrendering meant the Fire Nation would find them and then they’d be arrested and be thrown in some prison and-. 

“The youngest of our group should go with you.” Bato said, and Tomkin’s heart flipped when Tulok threw a glance at him. 

The only thing worse than his tribe being imprisoned was his tribe being imprisoned _without him._

“No.” Tomkin uttered, staring Tulok down. 

“Little Tom, you’re eighteen.” Tulok tried to be soft, but they were all exhausted from the battle. 

Chena spoke louder and drew the rest of the group’s attention with his stubborn hiss. “You’re not going to some fucking prison with us, that’s final.” 

Aput elbowed Chena in the ribs. “ _Language_.” He hissed, looking between the Avatar and Toph. 

The Avatar smiled gratefully. 

“Get fucked.” Said Toph, much to Chena’s delight, and Aput blinked in surprise. He was still getting used to her. 

“Chena’s right.” Hakoda interrupted quickly, shifting his weight. He was hurt. He was hurt a lot worse than he was letting on. “You two will go with them on Appa.” 

“Sorry, _two?_ ” Nanook asked, blue eyes wide. “You can’t be serious-.” 

“Tomkin, Nanook, you two are warriors.” Hakoda said, levelling his gaze on them, and with everyone staring at the two tribesmen, they turned sheepish. “There’s no disputing that. But you’re both still young. Too young to go where we’re going. You are, however,” Hakoda’s lips quirked up weakly, “old enough to be in charge.” 

“ _What?_ ” Sokka hissed, affronted. 

“Oh,” Tomkin tried to grin, heart thundering in his ears, “I’m gonna make you do _so_ many chores.” 

“Bold of you to assume I won’t rebel against your corrupt leadership.” Sokka said simply, but there was a catch to his words. The failure of the invasion was weighing on him, and the fear of leaving the adults was weighing on all of them. This was what Sokka and Tomkin had always done; they lifted spirits. They teased and acted nonchalant, and it helped people. It had never felt so hollow, but... but Tomkin didn’t want to stop. Leaving the rest of the warriors was a joke and he refused to take it seriously. 

“Question.” Tomkin looked back to Hakoda. “If me and Nanook are both in charge, what do we do if we disagree on something?” 

“I really don’t think that’s what we need to focus on right now, Little Tom.” Aput pointed out. His black hair fell to his broad shoulders, and a few strands were starting to stick to the cut on his forehead. 

“All I'm saying is there can’t be two of us; I've _never_ seen two pretty-.” 

“We don’t have time for this shit.” Chena growled, finally losing his patience. “There’ll be Fire Nation soldiers here soon. You kids need to _go_.” 

Tomkin’s small smile fell. This wasn’t going away. He knew it wouldn’t. Despite his teasing, no one was laughing, and the air choked with the taste of misery. Nanook was stood stiffly beside him, and the people they’d met for the invasion were hugging and promising to see each other again soon. Children saying goodbye to parents. Children Tomkin and Nanook were now responsible for. The Duke was only eight and was sobbing against Pipsqueak. Haru’s father, who had only just got out of a Fire Nation prison, was holding his son close, promising things he really couldn’t promise in quiet mutters. 

The adults were entrusting something so precious to Tomkin and Nanook. There was chaos around them, the aftermath of failure, threat approaching, heartbreak at their feet, but as that loudness waged around them, Tomkin felt him and Nanook in a quiet moment of solidarity. They were still stood side-by-side, shoulders brushing, but Tomkin couldn’t see Nanook’s face. He didn’t need to; he had it memorised. He knew that Nanook’s hair fell to his shoulders, a light brown the same shade as bark on an Earth Kingdom tree, a blue bead on one of the front strands. He knew he was taller than Tomkin by a few infuriating inches that he never let him forget, and had a strength to the broadness of his shoulders that Tomkin’s lithe form never quite managed. He knew as Nanook’s knuckles brushed against his that he had a birthmark on that hand – named Splodge - and wore walrus-whale ivory bracelets on each wrist. 

It had always been Tomkin and Nanook. As kids, and now as adults. They were being forced to leave behind their tribe, but at least they had each other. The thought of it was at once terrifying and relieving, and Tomkin grabbed Nanook’s hand fully, holding him tight. 

They would get through this, for the kids and for the crew. Some of them had to make it. 

They had to be the ones to make it. 

____ 

“Can we play Fire Lord?” 

Zuko blinked awake, the weak grasp of sleep slipping away. He hardly slept as it was, and when he did, his mind plagued him. Peculiarly, it was always Azula in the shadows, a necklace she’d never worn before around her neck. ( _You aren’t coming back from this one, Zuzu._ ) 

Zi Se was looking up at Zuko expectantly, and Zuko sighed. This was a game Zi Se used to play with Lanse. Zuko had made the mistake of using it to calm Zi Se down once, when he wouldn't stop crying and was making Spider angry, and now it was a recurring event. (And Zi Se didn’t cry anymore. Zuko told himself that was a good thing.) It happened the same way every time; Zi Se would ask to play, Zuko would feel momentarily like he’d been punched in the gut, and then he’d agree because it made Zi Se happy, and because _Lee_ had no reason to feel so strongly about pretending to be someone he had no connection to. The irony wasn’t lost on Zuko. 

“You first.” Zuko said. 

He always felt like he was failing Zi Se a little. He wanted to protect him. He _had_ to protect him. (Someone had to survive this and Zuko couldn’t guarantee it would be himself.) Part of that was keeping Zi Se’s youth, his innocence, untarnished through this wasteland. Zuko wanted him to be able to act like a five-year-old, but he wasn’t good at it. He wasn’t good at it because they were starving in a fucking prison, but it also ran deeper. Zi Se needed normal childhood experiences, as many as Zuko could offer given the context, but Zi Se was also the reason Zuko was slowly realising that his own childhood had been far, far too cold. He didn’t know any games because he had never played any without rebuttal. He knew poems and plays, but he didn’t know bedtime stories, the kind passed down from grandparents. And when he thought of that, of his father at home with a severed ponytail wrapped in green and ink enough to at least _respond_ , when he thought of his lineage that had twisted itself into a hundred funeral pyres, when he thought of this child before him who was trying to pull love from a hand that had never tasted it, Zuko felt _something_. He felt it deep in his chest, and suddenly, he was running up the hills of Gaoling, desperate to reach the Water Tribe camp first, an eagle-hawk in his chest. It had been terror then, but now, those wingbeats scratching his ribcage felt different, sharper. 

He swallowed it down. Here in this cell, to spill out was to drown, to open up was to be devoured, to indulge was to die. (And if he felt his heart race a little at the prospect of this new feeling, this spark in a pitch-black cave, then it didn’t matter. He'd swallow that too. Indifference was survival). 

Zi Se offered a tiny smile, and Zuko nudged his knee in weak encouragement. “If I were Fire Lord,” Zi Se said, chewing his necklace, deep in thought because he always took the possibilities of his hypothetical duty _very_ seriously, “I’d have twenty flying lemurs.” 

Zuko opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to tell Zi Se that flying lemurs were practically extinct, they had been since the Air Nomads were wiped out, but Zi Se’s smile caught around his necklace, and the prospect of twenty flying lemurs seemed to overjoy him. This was why Zuko encouraged this game in particular. To Zi Se’s young mind, _Fire Lord_ was the epitome of power. When pretending to be Fire Lord, Zi Se could ask for anything. He was such a quiet kid and Zuko dreaded to think of what went on in his mind; this got him talking about what he wanted, without the fear that came with knowing, at the end of the day, he couldn’t have it. 

(Of course, _the Fire Lord_ wasn’t actually the epitome of power, and the only flying lemur Zuko had ever seen travelled with the Avatar, who was the reason the Fire Lord wasn’t the epitome of power.) 

Zuko couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“Your turn.” Zi Se said, his small hand tugging at the sleeve of Zuko’s tunic. That’s how they communicated down here; physically and verbally, but hardly ever visually. 

If Zuko were Fire Lord, he’d wish lots of things, because this wasn’t actually a game to him. He’d been the _Crown Prince_. That was miles and miles away from his existence here, but it had once been true. He was raised to know what his duty would be when he took over from his father. He'd continue spreading the Fire Nation’s _greatness_ , uphold a position of terror and power, ensure their family’s name lived on, set in blood and fire. If Zuko were Fire Lord, he’d marry Mai and he’d terrorise the Water Tribe and he’d be miserable. 

But Zi Se was five and to him, Zuko was Lee. 

Zuko pulled his sleeve away. “If I were Fire Lord, I'd make a national holiday for turtleducks.” 

Zi Se giggled quietly and then they talked about the intricacies of such a holiday, and the entire time, Zuko barely paid attention. He was just... tired. He felt it in his skeleton, in his marrow; pure exhaustion. (The world outside wasn’t much better than the world in here, and that realisation had decimated him when he first came to terms with it.) (The only peace he’d ever known had been on a boat.) (A boat made of wood, not metal.) 

And then Zuko sat up a little, thoughts silencing. 

Chan was glaring at him. 

Zuko couldn’t see much more than a few lumps of darkness across the cell, a little denser than the rest of the shadows, but he could feel it like spiders crawling over his skin. Zuko had been tougher than normal last time they fought. He knew that. For a handful of bean curd puffs, Zuko had broken three of Chan’s fingers. Chan gave as good as he got, and Zuko’s breath kept hitching when he inhaled, as if caught on something. A fractured rib, probably. He hardly noticed. (What’s a blade of grass to a field?) 

But there was a reason for it all, because Zuko had won those bean curd puffs, had eaten them with Zi Se, and they hadn’t been fed since. They fought for every meal because the food itself was scarce and rare. They couldn’t afford to miss out on it. It wasn’t personal. 

Zuko wasn’t given much longer to contemplate Chan’s behaviour before torches lit up the corridor. 

____ 

“What is the meaning of this?” General Fong fumed as he stormed down the hill. He'd sheltered with a group of his men, but the attacks were over now. Hakoda watched the shadow of an air bison disappear on the horizon with a sad smile. It was all over. 

They had lost. They would be captured. But at least the kids got out. 

They would live to fight another day. They all would. 

“We’re surrendering.” Bato pointed out. 

“I can see that.” Fong snarled, finally stopping before the Water Tribe. 

“Really?” Bato frowned. “You seemed confused.” 

Chena snorted, grin curling into something brutal. This couldn’t end well, and suddenly, Hakoda didn’t care. He didn’t need Fong anymore. They were all being met with the same fate. Political cordiality was no longer necessary. 

And Kanut had noticed. 

The Angakkuq had been fussing over Hakoda’s injury. Hakoda had managed to avoid being burned from the explosion that caught him, but a piece of shrapnel had torn over his abdomen. Kanut said if he’d been a few inches to the left, it would have gutted him. As it was, he just needed a quick suture and some bandages, and he’d been a warrior long enough to grit his teeth through that much. But Kanut had been his friend longer than Hakoda had been a warrior, and he couldn’t help but prod at him. 

Now Fong had arrived though, Kanut froze, standing tall, blue eyes colder than the tundra. 

“Chief Hakoda,” Fong said, turning to face him and Kanut, green eyes jumping to a smudge of red they could see creeping up the hill, “if we don’t leave soon, we will be captured.” 

“He’s well aware.” Kanut said, tone icy, and everyone seemed to silence. Kanut didn’t usually get involved like this; it wasn’t like him. Even Hakoda flicked an uncertain glance to Bato, who looked just as perplexed. The red smudge was moving quicker, taking more shape. Fire Nation soldiers, a whole garrison of them. Instinct told Hakoda to get his men and run, but he knew he couldn’t. Their surrender would buy the kids time. There was an eerie peace in the inevitable. 

Or there would be, if it weren’t for Kanut and Fong glaring at each other. 

“Hey Kanut,” Tulok said, taking a few steps forward, placing a careful hand to the healer’s shoulder, “the soldiers are there. We have to go down quietly.” 

Tulok was a warrior in the literal sense of the word, but his character was soft, likeable. Next to Kanut, he was short, his dark hair braided back and tied with a blue ribbon that brushed his spine. Kanut might have been the Ullaakut’s healer, but he had a bitter side to him, a side Hakoda could never forgive Yutu for curating. He was bigger than Tulok and he was angrier; if the situation called for it, Tulok wouldn’t be able to hold him back. 

Hakoda needed to get him away from Fong, he realised suddenly. The Fire Nation were going to arrest them and they would go down peacefully in order to give Appa a clear flight out of enemy territory, as well as reducing risk of injury or fatality to their remaining invasion force. Defeated, but alive. 

If the soldiers got here to see the two men brawling, they’d take an aggressive stance. Kanut might be punished, might be _killed_. 

“Tulok’s right, Kanut.” Hakoda said, and he pushed back his shoulders, a Chief. “Let it go.” 

“Oh.” Fong said suddenly, and Hakoda glared at him, mentally ordering him to shut up. Now wasn’t the time for him to be making himself any more of a target. But the moment Hakoda looked to the other man, he felt his blood run cold. Fong looked disgusted, eyes narrowed on Kanut, as if he’d just connected two dots. He'd realised something. 

“You know, it was one thing I never figured out.” Fong said, cocking his head, eyes cruel. “My soldiers told me it was too easy, because he was protecting _you_.” 

Air hissed through Hakoda’s teeth as he winced like he’d been struck, body flinching. _He was protecting you._ A boy whose mind knew how to hold a spear but whose heart told him to leave it in the snow. _He was protecting you._ A candle raised to be a wildfire. _He was protecting you._ A scream shoved behind fragile ribs. _He was protecting you._

A boy, a candle, a scream. Gone. 

_Zuko._

Fong’s green eyes ignited in cruelty, smile sadistic. Hakoda understood he no longer needed Fong, and here, Fong was understanding the same. Their alliance died today, with their own imprisonment. The skeletons in their closets were now just clutter ready to haunt. 

“I suppose you already know he isn’t dead.” Fong said easily, ignoring how his men threw confused glances to each other behind him. “Stubborn little shit wouldn’t give me the satisfaction-.” 

“You wanna stop fucking talking.” Chena growled, and Hakoda had never heard him sound that angry, not since his little girl. Aput had grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, but he seemed reluctant to hold on. 

“He had it coming.” Fong said, spitting in the dirt. “Fire Nation scum.” 

“He’s a _kid_.” Tulok whispered, and he looked like he was going to be sick. Hakoda knew the feeling. His vision had tunnelled, even as the Fire Nation soldiers walked closer. They would be here within the minute. These were Hakoda’s last few moments of freedom, and instead of savouring it, he was imagining all the ways to invert someone’s ribcage. 

“He could have ended this war, if he wanted to.” Fong snarled. “He isn’t innocent. None of them are!” 

“I thought I told you to stop fucking talking.” Chena managed to push a step forward from Aput, causing Bato to lunge and grab Chena’s other arm. 

“Talking.” Fong echoed, and then he flashed that horrific smile again. “That was one thing he didn’t do much of. Never told me anything that could be useful. No matter what... _methods_ I tried.” 

Everything silenced. The marching of soldiers drummed to the methodical thumping of Hakoda’s heavy heart. For a few agonising seconds, the crew said nothing, Fong’s words, their implication, what they confirmed, swirling the muddied waters of their minds. 

And then Kanut lunged, and his fist slammed into Fong’s face. 

____ 

It was infuriating, like plucking a flower and only noticing the thorns when they drew blood. A low, constant ache. Tovah was patient, and she knew why she’d had to wait until today, the Day of Black Sun, before going to the cells, but that didn’t make it easier. This had been snatched from her for four months, and she’d seen in Fong a possibility that perhaps she’d found what she was looking for. The few days between Fong’s departure and today had been infuriating, beyond infuriating, but now, it was time. 

Tovah knew Fong was hiding someone in the cells, a prisoner more important than the others. Tovah knew it was perfectly plausible that prisoner could be anyone, and was unlikely to be Prince Zuko, but still, Tovah wouldn’t rest until she confirmed this; her line of work didn’t allow mistakes. Tovah knew the few soldiers still at the base were focussed, upon Fong’s orders, on defending the cells. Tovah knew the only break between their relentless guard was the Day of Black Sun, when all the soldiers aside the warden would move to the base’s parapets. Tovah knew it was a tumultuous day where a lot could be either gained or lost, and Fong wouldn’t risk this base falling into the latter category, hence the shift in defence. Tovah knew that her loyalties were prioritised, but she wouldn’t sideline the Earth Kingdom entirely. Tovah knew the value of this base, and the importance of taking as few risks as possible. 

Combining all that, and her only plausible option was to wait until the Day of Black Sun. 

And it had finally arrived. 

As Tovah descended the spiral staircase, Fong was battling the enemy in Caldera City, helpless to stop her. There were three floors of cells. The top floor was where unimportant prisoners were kept, usually a non-permanent holding, and were arranged in neat, metal rows. Taking the stairs to the next floor was like a slap to the face. Tovah noticed the smell first, curling her nose in disgust. She was thrown back to life on the street, of dirt and blood. Tovah couldn’t remember the last time she was in the cells – she had no need to go down here – but she understood this floor was where the... _interrogations_ took place. Torture was one method Tovah looked down upon. There was no cunning, no forethought to it. Any information gained was gained lazily. Any idiot could hold a knife. 

Finally, Tovah reached the base’s ground floor, thousands of tons of earth heavy above her head with the threat of collapse. It was beyond unsettling for a non-bender, and would be unbearable for a firebender. That was the point. 

“Colonel Tovah.” A skinny man said quickly, scrambling straight from where he’d been leaning against the torch-lined wall. This corridor was long, twisting at the end into an impenetrable darkness heralding the main cell’s entrance. The darkness was on purpose too. Even when interrogations weren’t occurring, everything about this place was designed to torment. 

Tovah looked the warden up and down, uninterested. He was tall, even taller than Tovah, with brown hair pulled back from his face. He looked a little like a tree, all skeletal and crooked, the green fauna of his uniform hanging loose. 

“Warden.” Tovah greeted, enjoying the anxiety in his gaze. He usually had more soldiers with him down here, but today, they were on the parapets. He was alone. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” The warden asked, fidgeting. 

“General Fong has asked me to check in on the prisoners while he’s away.” Tovah said simply, and the warden swallowed. He looked relieved. Tovah often made people nervous. They knew her reputation; the woman who knows things. She’d learnt on her own, but there had been a man who helped her perfect her talents. Long Feng of the Dai Li. From what Tovah had heard, he’d submitted to the sister of the boy Tovah searched for. 

Physical torture was Fong’s department, but Tovah could pull information from unwilling lips with no more than her words. That was far scarier, and the warden knew it. 

“Of course.” The warden said quickly, walking down the corridor. “Right this way.” 

At least these four months had given Tovah time to get a description of the Fire Prince. Young, black hair, gold eyes, and a scar she couldn’t miss. 

This shouldn’t take long. 

____ 

The two men tumbled to the ground, Kanut punching Fong’s face, his chest; anywhere he could find purchase. They fought, the sound of knuckles breaking skin filling the hillside as the men grappled to overpower one another. 

“Stop it!” It might have been Tulok, or Hakoda. Kanut felt nothing but rage. He could barely see, barely breathe, throat closed up and heart shrivelled in agony. Every time he blinked, he saw that stupid kid, saw this man before him _torturing_ him. Kanut kept hitting; he knew how to throw a good punch. It seemed to draw out in its own infinity, until suddenly, someone was grabbing his shoulders, his arms, wrapping around him, and he was being dragged away, kicking and cursing. 

“You fucking asshole!” Kanut screamed at Fong, elbowing Chena and Aput, who had been the ones to finally pull him off. Fong scrambled back in the mud, nose completely smashed, eye already swelling shut. Kanut was wild, even as Hakoda helped hold him still. He could feel tears on his face, hot and angry, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep going until Fong could never touch Zuko again. 

“Kanut, enough!” Hakoda yelled, and he’d been yelling for a while Kanut realised, the static hum of his mind suddenly being pierced. Everything was moving. There were splashes of red and black rushing Kanut’s vision, and then he felt Aput being yanked from him, then Chena, but with much more swearing. The Fire Nation were finally here. Kanut almost laughed, blood in his teeth. _Took them long enough._

Kanut watched his fellow warriors being rounded up, watched Fong cower before the soldiers, blood gushing down his ruined face. Kanut knew this was the plan, that this was inevitable, but everything in him was racing, and he couldn’t calm down. 

Someone grabbed at his arm and he yanked himself back. 

“Go down quietly if you know what’s good for you.” A man snarled at Kanut. Quietly. _Quietly_. Nothing about this was quiet. Nothing about any of this was fucking quiet. 

Kanut spat blood in the man’s eye. 

“Take this one separate!” The man yelled, outraged and disgusted as he furiously wiped his face. 

“No!” Tulok struggled against the handcuffs that had found themselves on his wrists, but the rest of the Water Tribe were already being marched away, and Kanut was being pulled in a different direction. 

He caught Hakoda’s eye, amongst the chaos. The Chief looked how he did as a kid, when he got his foot stuck in that damned snowdrift, when he thought he’d be stuck there until Kanut and Bato arrived, having looked for him for hours. That fear, that choking uncertainty, resting in his blue eyes. It stabbed into Kanut’s gut. 

“Live to fight another day, remember?” Kanut managed, making his voice strong as he was pulled into a different group of captives, “I’ll see you soon, Chief.” 

____ 

Someone was coming and the corridor flooded with light, and as usual, Zuko looked away. Naturally, his entire body tensed, his fingers wrapping around Zi Se’s wrist to pull him close. After the Agni Kai, Zuko had felt like this. Three years of basic training he’d already mastered, having to relearn his element, having to teach himself not to be sick whenever Uncle blew a spark. He was back to fearing fire, and this time, he couldn’t even wield it. Helplessness had worsened, somehow. 

Zuko blinked quickly, clearing his gaze as much as he could as quick as he could. (The fire stabbed at his vision, even this much causing a headache. Zuko didn’t know how to perceive light. Not anymore.) 

“Here we are.” Spider said, and Zuko narrowed his eyes at the spot of ground he’d focussed on, knowing not to look at the warden but feeling curious all the same. Spider sounded nervous. 

"Are you due to feed them?” A woman’s voice, cool and nonchalant to the appalling conditions she was bearing witness to. Zuko was used to be talked about like an animal by now. (He was used to being treated like one by now.) 

Zuko heard Spider scramble and dared a look up to see the warden hurriedly pull some food from behind his back. Zuko didn’t even look at the woman with him, not now food was involved. His gaze honed in, and he heard the cracking of joints as Chan moved across the room; ready. (He was still fucking _staring_.) 

Spider held out an egg-custard tart and Zuko swore his heart nearly thudded to a stop, all of his senses focussed on that single point where the tart balanced on Spider’s fingers. Zi Se let go of Zuko, backing into the wall, giving him space. Every limb ached as Zuko moved them, but it was nothing compared to the _hunger_. (He’d never felt an emptiness like that.) (This emptiness was wild and desperate inside him, claws scratching the lining of his stomach.) (It hurt because he hadn’t eaten, because of the emptiness, and yet that emptiness created something so consuming that he could barely see straight.) 

“There’s six of them.” The woman commented, and Zuko ground his teeth to keep his mouth shut. She was making Spider take longer, making ridiculous observations that anyone could see. There used to be a lot more prisoners down here, when Zuko was first captured. Not anymore. Zuko had hardly noticed their numbers dwindle. Some days, the warden’s soldiers would enter, and the prisoners they dragged out wouldn’t be thrown back in. That was that. 

“There’s six of them, and that’s all you’re feeding them?” The woman furthered, and Zuko finally dragged his gaze to her. 

She was tall and impressive, her black hair sleek as it fell to her hips. Everything about her seemed sharp; sharp face, sharp jaw, sharp, green eyes. Zuko didn’t like her, didn’t like that she was getting involved, that she was _new_. 

“I’m hungry.” Zi Se whispered to Zuko, too quiet, too weak, for anyone else to hear, his necklace in his mouth again. Those two words ignited something in Zuko. He was hungry too. They were all fucking hungry, and they were expected to watch the warden and this woman chat? It was hard enough starving with only the shadows (always the shadows) for company, but this, with Spider holding the food _metres_ away, was unbearable. 

“When you two are done catching up,” Zuko snarled, his voice hoarse, like gravel underfoot, “would you mind doing your fucking job?” 

Spider turned an enraged glare on him. No matter how many times Zuko mouthed off, Spider still grew infuriated. Zuko didn’t even bother getting to his feet as Spider stormed over, instead lolling back his head, looking at Spider through his eyelashes, _smirking_. 

“You little shit.” Spider seethed, grabbing Zuko by the front of his tunic and hauling him to shaky feet. He looked at Zuko and no one else, and that was part of why Zuko did this. (Zi Se was invisible when Zuko did this.) 

In one hand, Spider held Zuko by a fistful of fabric. In the other hand, Spider held food. Zuko was dizzy with hunger, dizzy with pain, dizzy with that strange scratching sensation in his chest. 

“I ought to starve you for this.” Spider growled, his ugly face looming over Zuko. 

“You’ve already been starving us, you fucking idiot.” Zuko said, spitting at the man’s feet. 

The action caused a new wave of rage to crash over Spider, and he shoved Zuko into the wall. Old wounds screamed beneath new ones and Zuko grit his teeth to keep the pained wince from leaving him, but through the pain, he heard something clatter to the floor. Something small. Confusion numbed him for a single second, and then horror as him and Spider both looked down. 

His pai sho tile. 

“ _No-_.” Zuko said, voice breaking in his sudden desperation. They could have anything (they’d already taken everything) but this was the one thing, _the one thing_ , Zuko had to hold onto. Lee had Zi Se. Zuko had his pai sho tile. If he lost this, he lost the last essence of his old self, he lost any chance of redemption, of returning, of _salvation_. 

“Well, what do we have here then?” Spider grinned, holding Zuko firmly as he toed the game piece. 

“Warden,” the woman said, and Zuko had forgotten she was there, “let him go.” 

An agonising silence stretched through the cell, Zuko’s chest heaving breath after shaky breath, eyes focussed only on his pai sho tile. The white lotus pattern had been smudged to the point it was almost unrecognisable, and blood crusted over the edges. Some of that had once been the real Lee’s blood, but Zuko knew it was most likely the fake Lee’s blood now. 

Spider looked to the woman, who was still stood at the cell’s entrance, eyebrow quirked up. She didn’t look shocked, or angry, or anything other than slightly impatient. Spider was scared of her, Zuko realised slowly. He could tell by how the warden held him tighter, by how his throat bobbed as he tried to swallow that fear. 

“With all due respect, Colonel,” - She was a Colonel? What was a Colonel doing down here? - “these are my prisoners, and I’ll treat my prisoners how I see fit.” 

“With all due respect, warden,” the woman smiled, like a predator baring its teeth, “I think your prisoners have a few _opinions_ on your treatment.” 

She moved. That was all Zuko’s mind provided him with. One moment, she was stood at the cell’s entrance, casual and cool. The next, she’d sprung to life, a flash of green too quick for Zuko to track, and Spider was being ripped away and thrown towards-. 

Towards _Chan._

Spider couldn’t get his footing in time, too stunned by the sudden force, and stumbled, careening into the metal wall. Chan was on his feet, a looming shadow, impossibly massive as he glared down at Spider. (Chan hadn’t been human for a long time, not really. Zuko had seen those bronze eyes of his up close. The man was wild, unhinged, hateful. The man was bloodthirsty.) 

Everything seemed to shift. Suddenly, Zuko and Zi Se were watching, a captive audience. Between them and the exit, the Colonel. Between Spider and the exit, Chan. No one was getting out of here. (But still, Zuko grabbed Zi Se, hoisting him onto his hip.) (He didn’t think about how light the kid was, how fast his heart was beating against Zuko.) (If anyone was going to escape, Zuko would make sure it was Zi Se.) (He didn’t know what was happening, but it had been days, weeks, months. They wouldn’t get a chance like this again.) 

“Please, no.” Spider whispered, realising the danger he was in. Even Putra was shakily getting to his feet, muddied face tilted down at the man that had broken him. The other prisoners were crowding Spider. The Colonel only watched. 

“Please, I'm begging, don’t do this.” Spider choked out, eyes wet, fingers trembling as he reached desperately to the Colonel. 

The Colonel only turned to Zuko. Her gaze was cruel as she looked him over, but her lips seemed on the verge of a smile. Fong always used to smile when he hurt Zuko, and he couldn’t help but tilt Zi Se away from her. 

“You’re coming with me.” She said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. 

Zuko hurriedly grabbed his pai sho tile, but then he hesitated, and realised the other prisoners were waiting for him, and Chan was fucking staring, those bulbous eyes trained on Zuko’s withered form. This was the longest the prisoners had been in light for as long as Zuko could remember. He could see his own dirtied hands, could see the sharpness of Zi Se’s face, could see Chan’s long, knotted hair. Tarnished honour. A constant reminder of a life sentence. Suddenly, Zuko didn’t hate Chan. He never had, really. He was just hungry, and Chan was in his way, the same as how Zuko was in Chan’s way. Past that, they were one and the same. They understood each other. 

“You could get out.” Zuko whispered, because he understood that, whoever this Colonel worked for, it wasn’t Fong. The base was compromised, which was the best opportunity the prisoners would ever get. 

Chan closed his eyes a moment, before shaking his head. “No.” Was all he managed, his voice deep and cracked like old stone. With that one word, Zuko heard everything. Zuko was still young, still had Zi Se, still had fight. Chan was broken, the kind of broken that couldn’t be mended. The shadows killed him a long time ago. (Zuko was reminded then of a deserted Fire Nation ship, of swirling snow, of a red ribbon. After death, the soul’s final journey is to find peace. Chan's would be delivered in bloody, tattered hands, but that was what he was choosing.) 

Zuko carefully moved his hand, still cradling Zi Se but opening up his palm, and then pressed his other hand against it in a fist, bowing as low as his aching body would allow. Chan hissed in a breath, before nodding. 

Zuko turned to the Colonel and she grabbed his arm in an iron grip, pulling him out of the cell. Spider's begs became cries and pleas, screaming for mercy, and then Zuko heard fists slamming into flesh, and those screams of mercy became screams of pain. They would tear him to pieces. Zuko could have helped, could have stopped it. Instead, he bowed to the killer. 

(As he walked the stairs he’d climbed a hundred times, as he followed a colder cruelty but a cruelty all the same, as he knew he was still in grave danger, Zuko still allowed a small laugh, almost hysterical. This Colonel could do her worst, but Agni, who cared? He was out. He was fucking out and Zi Se was still breathing.) 

(And as Spider died miles away from the surface, Zuko felt no remorse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg kanut don’t absolutely fucking batter fong ur so sexy aha. Iconic. King shit. So proud of him. Also WE GOT SOKKA’S POV FUCK YEAH. He wasn’t supposed to have a pov yet but alas I have zero control over this story so \\_(O_O)_/ . also if you saw tomkin almost quote ’i ain’t ever seen two pretty best friends’ then no you didn’t. i had to cut him off before chena literally slapped him. Everyone decided to be iconic this chapter and you know what? Good for them. I’m not talking about tovah because you guys will hate me if I do. Ciao x


	23. ii. Tomkin Fraternises With Team Avatar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me naming the chapter title after a single pov out of a 9k chapter? more likely than you'd think. idc you can take the 'tomkin fraternises with' series from my cold dead hands. this chapter is more hopeful than the first two because they were ROUGH ( ~~buddy~~ ) so have this as a treat. it's not perfect but it's hopeful. 
> 
> you all went batshit feral when kanut decked fong and i've never been more proud of him or you guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up bimbos, himbos and thembos. how have you been? wow this week kicked my ass i hated every minute of it thank GOD we're at the weekend. anyways, this chapter is pretty long but at the same time i couldn't tell you a single thing that happened in it; writing it felt like a fever dream. enjoy it chief ;) 
> 
> go read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639188)!!! the legend that is @ren-likes-muffins on tumblr wrote a fic showing the warriors dealing with losing zuko in the four month time gap between book 1 and book 2 and it is honestly so so good, i'm in awe. 
> 
> have a lovely week nerds, don't do anything i wouldn't do xxx

It was too bright. All of it. Zuko couldn’t see, and it was a different blindness to what simple darkness brought on. This was brought on from dizziness and overwhelmed senses, and Zuko couldn’t _see_ , and his head was starting to pound. War drums behind his eyes ringing through his bones, thumping in time with his racing pulse. (Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.) They finished ascending the spiral stairs, finding themselves on a corridor lined by torches. (Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.) Zuko twisted Zi Se away from the fire, the kid clinging to his shirt, head buried in the crook of Zuko’s neck and hair tickling his chin. (Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.) The woman’s grip was iron-like and the skin-on-skin contact made Zuko want to vomit, but he didn’t pull away because when was the last time he even had that option? (Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum-.) 

There were soldiers in the corridor. They yelled when they saw Zuko and Zi Se, their eyes widening when they saw the Colonel. Zuko flinched, mouth dry, sand-like. (Still hungry.) He’d only walked the spiral stairs, but usually, he collapsed on his knees by now. After all, he only ever walked them to go to Fong. But they were approaching that cell, and then they were walking past it, and Zuko clutched Zi Se tight even though he knew the _room_ wasn’t actually dangerous, and then suddenly, it was behind them and he was still walking. 

Zuko couldn’t blink away his headache long enough to see how the soldiers were winding up unconscious on the floor. The Colonel’s grip never faltered, her fingers wrapped entirely around his wrist, and she just moved so quickly. An Earth Kingdom soldier would approach in that disgusting green uniform of theirs, they’d question why two prisoners were out, and then the Colonel would move in a flash, and they’d be unconscious. At one point, they paused outside a room Zuko didn’t recognise, and the Colonel disappeared. Zuko could have run in that moment, but instead he stood, disorientated and _waiting for her_ like an idiot. She returned with a handful of something black that she slung over her shoulder, and then she was pulling him forward again. Zuko's bleary mind could barely keep up. He'd been in the cell minutes ago, and now Spider was dead and Zuko was... Zuko was escaping? (All he heard was the racing of his heart that thundered now with his headache. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum-.) 

And then they reached the surface, and it was blinding. 

Zuko tripped, falling to his knees, Zi Se’s arms still wrapped firmly around his neck. The earth was packed beneath him, cool to the touch, and it was night-time but it was so, so bright. He could see the sky, the stars, the moon. He wondered if they’d always been so bright, so beautiful. He wanted to sob. It was an obliterating urge and he shoved it down, shoved it flapping and flailing back behind his ribs. This wasn’t real. None of this could possibly be real. And if it was, it didn’t matter. To feel was to die. Zuko couldn’t die. Not after Uncle and the Water Tribe and Priss and Oro and Renmin and Fong and Spider and Chan and Zi Se. Not after everything. (And everyone.) 

But then a breeze swept through the base, curling against Zuko’s sweating skin, lapping over his bruises and cuts (and burns), and it was the first gentle touch Zuko had felt that wasn’t Zi Se. He melted into it, weight into his knees, into the dirt. 

“Oh.” Zuko whispered, tipping back his head, because that was the only word he could conjure in that moment, _for_ that moment. He could see. Even though it hurt and made his eyes squint and head pound, _he could see_. He could see his fingers, how they held his pai sho tile in a trembling fist. He could see the dirt ground into the fine lines of his skin. He could see his grey tunic stained with patches of dull red. He could see the scars and he could actually pinpoint where the pain was coming from. Here, on his burnt hand that did look a little like the top of a bánh gai, what with his charred, cracked skin. Here, on his cut leg, a deep gash from Fong’s blade stretching from his knee and overlapping burns down to his ankle. Here, on his chest, where the tell-tale bump of a misplaced bone screamed bruisingly whenever the skin pulled over it too tight. And those were just the main injuries from his last meeting with Fong. That wasn’t including the damage from Chan’s knuckles, his growling stomach from Spider, his old bruises and burns and lacerations and here and here and here and-. 

Everywhere. 

Agni, everywhere hurt. He wanted to curl in on himself suddenly, push everyone away, but to do that, he’d have to unlatch Zi Se, and the kid was holding on firmly. 

“Hey,” Zuko whispered, “we’re out.” 

Slowly, tentatively, Zi Se pulled back his face, amber eyes terrified. He squinted at the night around them, everything far too visible after so long underground. 

The sight of Zi Se’s young face chased away Zuko’s urge to implode, because as much as he hurt, every injury he acquired was one more injury that Zi Se didn’t acquire. It didn’t make it okay, or less painful, or worth it, but it at least gave some meaning to it all. It wasn’t all for nothing. (Right?) 

“Get up. We don’t have time for this.” The Colonel said suddenly, and Zuko’s entire body flinched, hand grabbing Zi Se’s wrist, ready to yank him back if he needed to. The woman was stood a metre away, watching with hawkish green eyes. Zuko's headache hammered at him. He was suddenly seeing colours and light and more than the metal walls of that fucking cell, and everything in him both reeled from and pulled towards it and he didn’t know what to do. It’d been so long-. 

A sudden swelling racked through Zuko. He thought he really was going to be sick, breath catching and tightening in his throat until he choked. 

“How long?” He croaked. 

The Colonel cocked her head, before realising what he meant. “If those two foot soldiers really were the ones who brought you in, then you’ve been here four months.” 

Four months. 

When young, things like age and death are no more than abstractions. Severe, but distant. Another nation’s natural disaster; morbid to think on but lacking intimacy. Zuko never had much in his life, but _time_ was one thing he was supposed to have an abundance of. He was sixteen - (Oh Agni, he was seventeen.) He was seventeen; a teenager. He was young and he had his whole life ahead of him. And he didn’t have Mother or Uncle or the turtleduck pond or the- or _them_ , but he did have time. 

Until suddenly, he’d spent four months below the earth, starving and fighting and _losing time._

Four months of his life gone forever. 

Four months of the people he cared about not knowing. 

_Four months of not a single person coming to help him._

He felt that fluttering behind his ribs, that familiar scratch against an achingly empty stomach. His expression must have changed, because Zi Se reached out, tugging his tunic. Zuko ignored him, pulling away to get to his feet. He turned and look the Colonel head on and she stared right back. 

“Where’s Fong?” Zuko all but snarled, and that single syllable, that simple name, was enough to make him want to scream. 

But he blinked and swallowed it. 

Zi Se was Zuko’s priority. His second priority was Fong. 

Fong, who stole four months from Zuko. Fong, who took so much more. Fong, the face of pain. Fong, the voice of turmoil. What happened to Zuko here was a tragedy, his scarred body the script and stage. Fong, the playwright. And Zuko had read enough tragedies to know how this had to end. Justice for peace, an eye for an eye. 

Zi Se and Fong. Two reasons why Zuko had to swallow any and all emotions that could possibly cloud his judgement. 

He'd make that bastard pay. 

“He’s in Caldera City aiding the effort to kill your father.” The Colonel said monotonously. “The eclipse finished about an hour ago, which means soon, soldiers will leave the walls and see us stood in the courtyard like this. We have to move.” 

Zi Se was stood behind Zuko, peering at the woman, burying his face against Zuko’s leg when she glared at him. 

“Why the fuck would we come with you?” Zuko hissed, and it would sound stronger if his voice didn’t sound so hoarse, and if he weren’t swaying a little. It was taking all his energy to stay conscious, but he’d felt exhausted when sat doing nothing in a cell; the exhaustion he felt now after trailing up the stairs and escaping was debilitating. 

The Colonel seemed intrigued by that question. “Hm, all this time extinguished, and you still have a spark. That's very interesting.” She said, as if studying a specimen. All it did was remind Zuko of his bending. It was night-time and Agni was tucked beneath the horizon, but a firebender could always sense the sun, no matter what time of day. It was like a magnetic pull. 

And Zuko was just... detached. 

“Walk and talk.” The Colonel finally said, clicking back to attention and turning on her heel. She walked the base like she owned it. Zuko worked his jaw. He so badly wanted to run. He didn’t know where to and he didn’t _care_ , he just needed to run and be alone and never stop running until this place was far, far behind him. 

_Zi Se and Fong_ , he told himself. He could suffer just a little more, and so far, this woman had answers. The least he could do was use her to navigate his way out of this place. 

Every step was excruciating, made worse by Zi Se’s silent, grabby hands demanding he be picked up and placed safely back on Zuko’s hip. Zuko just hurt. And though his swimming vision could finally focus on exactly _what_ hurt (here, here, here), Zuko still couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It ran too deep to be flesh wounds, felt too gargantuan to be physical. He hurt, and he didn’t know how to stop the hurt. 

The pain was bad enough that he’d willingly sit with a healer at this point, if it just made it go _away_. (He remembered white hair and blue eyes, scorched tea, blunt words that felt soft.) (Zuko pushed that thought away.) 

They walked in silence, and Zuko almost didn’t notice, so distracted by _left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot_. He knew he should be asking questions, finding out who this woman was, where she was taking him. There was a cruelty to her, he knew that. She'd thrown her own ally at a pack of rabid prisoners without blinking, then dragged Zuko away. She wanted him the same way Fong had wanted him. (But also the same way Hakoda had wanted him.) Zuko didn’t know her angle, didn’t know if he was walking him and Zi Se from one cell into another. But he was just so _tired_ , and everything hurt, and if she was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her. Not in this condition. 

When she spoke again, they were hugging the base’s exterior, hidden by the shadows of the looming walls. The last time Zuko was here, he stared up at the parapets, Oro and Renmin either side of him in a twisted familiarity. That felt like years ago. 

“There’s extra soldiers out tonight, so stay down, stay quick, and stay quiet.” The Colonel said. A few metres away stood the treeline, but the open land between that would leave them dangerously vulnerable to being spotted. 

The woman didn’t grab Zuko, or even check he’d heard her, she simply took one last sharp glance at the parapets, waited for a young soldier to pass, before ducking, crossing the short space in a flash of green movement. Zuko was growing increasingly unsettled around her. His abrased wrists were unbound, he could run anywhere right now if he wanted to, she’d fucking left him here so she could run across first. None of it felt like being kidnapped, and Zuko was speaking from experience. And yet, he knew he had no choice but to go with her. She knew things, things he needed, and she was fully aware of that need. 

Zi Se had shifted onto Zuko’s back by now, ankles hooked around his waist, chin rested on his shoulder. It was easier like this for Zuko to ease himself into a crouch, trying not to groan when his muscles screamed. This felt so akin to the days he wore that wooden blue mask. 

He darted across when the coast was clear, and the Colonel was already turning to walk into the forest. 

“I believe this is yours.” The woman said, unhooking the strange black object she’d claimed from the base. “Fong likes to collect these sorts of things, to remind him of his victories.” 

Zuko didn’t like this woman and every part of him was in discomfort as he focused on dragging his feet through the trees without falling over, but he _did_ like the way she spoke about Fong. Hatefully, full of disdain. 

She handed the black object to Zuko and he froze, staring at it. 

It was his scabbard, his single Dao sword tucked safely inside. Zuko traced the familiar grooves with shaking fingers, seeing how his callouses fit exactly against the very handle that had worn them in, with new scars and bumps sitting uncomfortably. The weight, the colour, the feeling; it was so achingly familiar. 

It was a simple equation. One sword for good, one sword for bad. With neither, Zuko felt nothing, and that had been nice. With both, he felt balance, and that had also been nice, however brief. And now he was being handed a single sword. Good or bad? Who decided, in the end? 

Deciding meant shedding this apathy, this protection. The hurt that cocooned him was inches away from crashing against the shores of his body. If he picked good or bad, he was opening himself to it. To all of it. 

He... he wasn’t ready for that. 

“Cool sword.” Zi Se said quietly as Zuko turned it in his hands. 

Zuko swallowed. “Yeah,” he breathed, “it is.” 

“Stop flagging.” The Colonel said from up ahead, no sympathy in her tone. She sounded bored. Zuko's life had been torn from him and she sounded _bored._

With a sword in his hand, Zuko's patience finally snapped. 

He still didn’t know quite how he managed it, and knew a lot of his success was down to sheer luck, but Zuko somehow caught up to her, easing Zi Se to the floor before lunging and twisting, using her surprise to push the Colonel until suddenly, her back was to a tree and his blade was at her neck. It was a simple move, basic, but as soon as his limbs stopped moving, they seized up, and the agony that wracked over him was almost enough to make him double over. He had to grit his teeth to keep himself standing. 

“You don’t look well.” The Colonel said, that mocking tone, those exact words, pushing against old wounds and making something growl deep inside. ( _Your Highness, you don’t look well_.) Zuko learnt long ago how to shrug off provocations; it kept him alive to simply let Fong do what he wanted. But still, with Spider, Zuko had struggled to hold his tongue. And now, as the Colonel’s green eyes barely regarded the threat to her life, he felt that fluttering spark within him. The urge to _hurt_ , if only to share his pain. 

“Tell me who you are.” Zuko snarled, and even to his own ringing ears, he knew his voice was hoarse, grating each word out like they hurt to form, which they did. Even something as simple as talking, as walking, as fucking breathing, was painful. 

“My name is Colonel Tovah." The woman said, never blinking, and Zuko almost felt like he was the one with a blade at his throat. 

“Who sent you?” He pressed, the blade nicking her skin and causing the slightest trickle of blood. 

“Lee, stop. You're gonna hurt her.” Zi Se said quietly, and Zuko knew if he turned, he’d see the kid stood forlornly, sucking his necklace, still worried about inflicting harm despite all the horrific shit he’d seen. They'd seen. Zuko had stopped him from seeing. That was the infuriating thing about Zi Se’s innocence; it was Zuko’s fault. 

“Lee?” Tovah raised an elegant eyebrow, and Zuko pushed the blade deeper. 

“ _Who. Sent. You._ ” Zuko growled, his headache making everything pound. He was going to pass out, but he needed her answer first. He needed to know. He needed to know how much worse things could get, would get. (Always, always worse.) 

Tovah smiled, and it finally looked genuine. 

“I was sent by your uncle,” she said slowly, “and the Order of the White Lotus.” 

____ 

It had only been a matter of time before Tovah found out the truth behind the Dai Li. 

Her job was a simple one; find information. She grew a reputation in Ba Sing Se. First, she went out of her way to unearth people’s secrets. She'd always done so, since people-watching on the curb as a child. But that man in the alley with his single gold piece taught her the true worth of information. People were willing to pay for her silence, so she made them pay. She targeted the upper-ring folk, sneaking in every night, and they paid her handsomely to keep their affairs and laundering and immorality under wraps. After a few years, people began to seek her out. Petty affairs like confirming neighbourhood gossip for a gold piece became finding dirt on two business competitors. The stakes in Tovah’s life kept rising, and she was the one moving them up. 

And then one day, a man came to her with a proposition that intrigued her. He told her, simply, that the Dai Li were corrupt, that a scandal amongst them risked breaching the surface, that some people were whispering, that he would pay Tovah her weight in gold if she found a new scandal to bury this one. 

He trusted her because of her reputation. Tovah didn’t trust anyone, and that was why she broke his neck and left him dead in an alley. 

Tovah didn’t trust anyone, and had no friends, no family. The only constant in her life was Ba Sing Se. She hadn’t realised how fiercely she loved her city until that man stood before her telling her of the lies its people were being fed. The urge to protect this place, this place that raised her, this place that gave her so little but still gave her _something_ , was a visceral reaction, overwhelming, and it ricocheted through her usually infallible calm. 

No one had ever given Tovah the chance to be loyal before, and she wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but this felt right. In a line of work so polluted, this felt _clean_. 

The Dai Li became her new project. Tovah was smart enough to know she couldn’t take them on singlehandedly. She needed someone with their amount of power to ally with her. Her search took her out of the city she was trying to save, and she was pointed towards a man who was said to be great. He was also famous for taking audiences with just about anyone, despite his status. So, Tovah spoke with him, mind set on convincing him to help his fellow Earth Kingdom city. Whatever alliance she could scrounge was supposed to be temporary, but the King of Omashu saw something in Tovah. Potential. 

King Bumi agreed to do all he could for Ba Sing Se, but he understood as Tovah did that a group as powerful and with layers of corruption as deep as the Dai Li’s, it would not be a simple liberation. It would take years. 

In return for his help, all he asked was that Tovah take a Pai Sho tile. He'd snickered as he flicked it into the air, those crazy eyes tracking it all the way to Tovah’s palm. The white lotus piece. 

She joined the Order and hadn’t looked back since. 

The White Lotus got her into the Dai Li, rising through their ranks inconspicuously. After that, it was just a matter of whispering and gossiping and blackmailing, and then she was at Long Feng’s side. He trusted her, because she learnt long ago how to make powerful people trust her. She let the years pass patiently, but behind closed doors, she was compiling a file large enough to damn the Dai Li. When it was ready, enough, irrefutable (after all, her line of work didn’t allow for mistakes), then she would present it to both King Kuei and King Bumi. Bumi would support her, and despite his ignorance, King Kuei would be forced to open his eyes and intervene. 

Her file was going well. She'd been with the White Lotus for five years, and the evidence against the Dai Li was almost enough. In five years, she’d met lots of people. She didn’t make friends with any of them, even the ones foolish enough to try. 

But there was one exception. 

Iroh, of the Fire Nation. 

He was royal and esteemed and _Fire Nation_ , but he was in the Order. The part of Tovah that led her to people-watch in the first place was fascinated by him. She wanted to know him. At the time, she hadn’t meant that in a friendly way. Knowledge, for Tovah, had always been a weapon. But Iroh spoke of flowers and teas and music and poetry and he was invaluable in regards to the Dai Li file, and his kind of knowledge never hurt, no matter how long Tovah waited for it to. He had been the only person she wasn’t indifferent to, and she wasn’t indifferent because she _hated_ him. He knew more about the innerworkings of Ba Sing Se than even Tovah, and he knew because he had laid siege to her city for six hundred days. 

She hated him with a venom she wasn’t used to, until the day he came to her and told her about Lu Ten, his son. He told her of his foolishness, his blindness, his mistakes, his regrets, how it led to his own tragedy and it was only then he could open his eyes. He told her of how he’d tried to make amends. He told her he was sorry. And this General, this royal, got on his knees before Tovah and _bowed_. 

The thing about it was that Tovah could tell from the moment she met Iroh that he was sorry for what he did to Ba Sing Se. She could tell almost everything about him. But he was also a powerful man, and Tovah didn’t have good experiences with powerful men. So when this one bowed before her in apology and earnest regret, when he asked not for forgiveness, but simply her consideration, when he took her hatred and didn’t use it for pity, Tovah was stunned. 

She gave him a chance. 

Before she knew it, he would pat her shoulder, and she’d let him, and they’d share tea while he affectionately called her _‘my dear friend.’_ And Tovah didn’t refute him, because who was she – friendless and alone – to tell him what friendship was? 

Tovah didn’t trust anyone, but she liked Iroh, and she owed him a great deal. So when he, five months ago, sent out a distress message to all White Lotus agents currently in the Earth Kingdom, Tovah was quick to write back. She was the first to him, and she stood stoically as he poured over his nephew, the Fire Prince. She stayed with him until another agent discovered the Prince was alive and with the Southern Water Tribe, and that communication had started with the Earth Kingdom. The boy was to be handed to General Fong, and soon. 

Tovah, who was one of the Order’s quickest, most cunning agents, who to General Fong was an esteemed militant with the Dai Li’s full recommendation behind her, was placed with him, and quickly became a Colonel and Fong’s primary advisor, just as she’d been with Long Feng. Iroh felt guilty for distracting her from Ba Sing Se, but it was clear Prince Zuko was his primary focus. Tovah didn’t mind; she despised owing people, and this was the least she could do for him. 

And then Chief Hakoda decided to change the plans, and Tovah was ready to get her hands dirty. 

It would seem that the ragged boy before her, more bruise than boy, more bone than boy, was her new definition of _getting her hands dirty_. 

“If I take that sword from you, will you topple over?” Tovah asked calmly when the silence stretched on too long, the blade at her throat moving with her easy breaths. Prince Zuko's golden eyes, just a shade lighter than his uncle’s, were wide, owlish, and blackened underneath by sleeplessness, his cheekbones jagged as they cut lines into his skeletal face. Tovah wasn't one for pity, but even she hesitated when she first saw him upon the warden’s tour. The scar was beyond distinguishable, standing out angry and red on his left eye, but Tovah had still hoped, for Iroh’s sake, that this was some other lost soul. 

Then a white lotus tile fell from the boy, and Tovah confirmed that this was, in fact, Prince Zuko. 

She wondered if he even knew the weight of that Pai Sho tile. She wondered if he knew that it saved his life today. 

“My uncle?” Prince Zuko whispered, ignoring Tovah. If it was possible, the little colour in his face had drained. He'd been close to passing out since he stood up to the warden, and it seemed this would be the last straw. Tovah wasn’t particularly keen on carrying him to the ostrich-horse stables, but they were only a few minutes away. She’d manage if she had to. 

The mention of Iroh had knocked something off-kilter in Prince Zuko. He stared dumbly, the sword falling limp at his side, remaining in his hand from practise alone. 

“Lee?” The little boy who wasn’t part of Tovah’s job description said softly, walking up to Prince Zuko and tugging on his tunic. Tovah had seen him do that a few times to get Prince Zuko’s attention. It was fascinating to watch the two interact. 

Prince Zuko blinked, looking down at the kid, before smoothing down his hair. When he looked back at Tovah, his expression was jarringly blank. She'd never seen gold eyes look so extinguished. 

“Where is he?” Prince Zuko asked, walking onwards. 

Tovah hesitated a beat, curious, if anything, before following and retaking the lead. “He allied with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se against your sister and was arrested. I’ve been looking into it. He's in Capital City Prison.” 

Tovah waited patiently for the Prince’s horrified response; she’d researched the prison extensively since finding out Iroh had been taken there, and knew it was intimidating, to say the least. Her first priority was the Prince, but her second was breaking Iroh out. He was waiting for her. 

Prince Zuko didn’t look horrified though. He didn’t even blink. Tovah knew how to read people, and Prince Zuko’s body language said that he didn’t _care_. 

“Where are we going?” The Prince asked, voice as monotonous as if he were asking about Tovah’s day; an amicable request, a required response. He finally gave into the child’s tugging, picking him back up and letting the boy cover his eyes with Prince Zuko’s collarbone. Even though it was night, even though Tovah was struggling to see, the two boys seemed to squint at everything, like it was all too bright. The Prince hadn’t tried to firebend a light for them. 

“There’s a White Lotus camp not far from here. You'll stay there to recover until your uncle arrives.” Tovah said simply, cresting a hill that looked, finally, upon some stables. It would be a few hours ride to the camp, and then Tovah could get rid of these children. They both needed a healer, and a good meal, and a therapist while they were at it. 

Tovah expected some pushback from the Prince, but all she received was a tired; “Alright.” 

____ 

Thanks to the invasion, the Fire Nation’s prisons were very suddenly overcrowded. The Water Tribe crew were being sent to Shuhon Prison, the Chief was being sent to the Boiling Rock, and Kanut had got lumped with a bunch of others who refused to go down quietly. He overheard the soldiers saying how there weren’t enough cells, so these ones would be taken to a prison within Caldera City, for simple ease of access. Kanut wasn’t quite sure why he bothered eavesdropping. He wasn’t Hakoda or Bato; he didn’t know how to get out of this. 

Still, he owed it to his friends to try. He didn’t regret punching Fong, not by any means; he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Spirits, he’d pay money to see that pained expression on the bastard’s face _just once more_. But it had got him separated, and if there was one thing the Water Tribe were bad at, it was being separated. It was unnatural for them. So Kanut had to get out, get back, before he got an earful from a very anxious Tulok. 

The prison was a towering cylindrical beast of stone and small windows, and Kanut was marched towards it with the rest of the prisoners. He didn’t recognise anyone and kept his eyes ahead of him for the arduous climb up what felt like a thousand stairs. Every cell they passed saw more of them being shoved behind bars, until Kanut was stopping before a cell himself, a guard at his side. 

Aside a straw mat and some buckets, the cell was barren of furniture. Not exactly the peak of comfort, but Kanut would tough it out. He knew the others would come for him. They'd find a way. They always did. He wouldn’t entertain the thought of being stuck here. 

Then a shadow shifted in the dingy room, and Kanut realised the cell was already occupied. 

“Look at this, General.” The guard beside Kanut sneered, eyes narrowed on the shadow. “You have a cellmate.” 

The shadow didn’t respond and Kanut almost laughed at the guard. As if hearing Kanut’s internal mocking, the guard turned to him, expression distasteful. 

“Here’s your cell.” The guard said, lips curling up as his tone took on an air of melodrama. “And may I introduce you to General Iroh, the Dragon of the West.” 

“Ha.” Kanut said dryly. “And I am Kanut, Sea Serpent of the South.” 

He shook his head, unamused by the guard’s joke. What would a _royal_ be doing in this place? But then, Kanut was shoved inside the cell, the gate locking behind him with a metallic clang, and the shadow moved, revealing an old man with wiry grey hair falling in bedraggled strands about his face. His face that had a strange familiarity to it, and two golden eyes... 

“Oh shit.” Kanut managed to utter, the guard’s laughter bouncing off the corridor as he walked away and left Kanut alone with the once _Crown Prince of the Fire Nation_. Not that Kanut didn’t have experience with Crown Princes of the Fire Nation, but the last one he met had a considerably cleaner track record than the man who besieged Ba Sing Se. 

“Where I am from,” General Iroh – _the_ General Iroh – said, his voice a low but fond rumble that sounded an awful lot stronger than he looked, “we greet people with a simple hello.” 

“Where you’re from, they commit war crimes like it’s a competitive sport, so I think I'll stick to my unnecessary profanity, thanks.” Kanut said before he could stop himself, leaning against the opposite wall and slowly sliding down it. This was _the Dragon of the West_. He’d only ever heard of this man. If he was anything like his brother, then General Iroh was a horrible, power-hungry man. But Zuko had spoken about him on numerous occasions, and his fond tone gave Kanut a shred of hope. 

That hope bloomed a little when the man before him let out a deep, almost startled laugh. 

“You say you’re from the south.” General Iroh commented, hands resting serenely on his crossed legs. “And you are clearly Water Tribe.” 

There was a question in his words. Kanut waited for an elaboration, before shrugging. 

“Southern Water Tribe, yeah.” He said proudly, daring the royal to turn up his nose. 

General Iroh blinked, and there was something in his golden gaze, a strange mix of grief and anger. However peculiar the light banter from before was, it was gone now, evaporated in an instant. This haggard old man suddenly looked like someone who could be as deadly as the stories said. 

General Iroh levelled his stare, expression cold as ice. “Your tribe took my nephew.” 

_Oh shit_ , Kanut thought, but at least he didn’t say it out loud this time. 

“Oh, no. Not-. It’s not like that-. I mean it was, but then it... wasn’t.” Kanut blurted out, and he definitely wasn’t panicking about being stuck in a confined space with a powerful royal firebender who had a personal grudge against him. 

“Where is he?" General Iroh said, voice a sudden growl. 

“I don’t fucking know!" Kanut snapped, suddenly unable to stay calm beneath that accusatory glare. He didn’t want to think of Gaoling, of the beach, of the exact moment he realised Hakoda and Bato had come to a decision, the wrong decision. Fong was away from Zuko now, but Kanut didn’t know where the stupid kid was, how he was, who was with him. What if they were worse than Fong? 

This was the part that killed. This unknowing. It had been tearing away at Kanut, chunk by chunk, for months. 

He wouldn’t hear judgement from some has-been war criminal with greasy hair. He refused. 

“The Chief has a soft spot, and the brat took advantage of that, little shit that he is. He grew on us.” Kanut explained pitifully, hesitating a beat before adding; “ _All_ of us.” 

He didn’t know how long they sat in silence for, but Kanut couldn’t lift his gaze from his hands, and the General just sat there, thinking. 

Finally, the old man said; “Tovah was right, then? Fong has Zuko now?” 

“He did.” Kanut said, twisting his hands. “But Fong was captured along with the invasion force.” 

Silence descended once again. If this was how their conversations were going to be, then Kanut ought to get comfortable. This might take a while. He was trapped here, forced to confront Zuko’s uncle and, in turn, Zuko himself. Kanut had been hiding from this for four months. Now, the choice was taken from him. 

“You...” The General said, frowning a little, as if he didn’t dare to hope. “You were kind to him?” 

He sounded so fragile, like Kanut’s answer could shatter him, and the question made Kanut’s nails dig into his palms. It wasn’t what he expected to be asked. 

Kanut wasn’t sure if he had been kind; it wasn’t his way. He was blunt and could be cold and he rubbed people up the wrong way, but the kid had seemed to like him, as reluctant as they both were to it. They understood each other, in a way Kanut didn’t wish anyone else could understand. Kanut hadn’t been kind, he’d simply listened, he’d been there, he’d helped, he’d-. 

_Oh shit_ , Kanut thought, mentally kicking his own incompetency. 

“Yeah,” Kanut whispered, throat tight, “we were. We... we did our best.” 

General Iroh sat stoically for a few more seconds, before his shoulders slumped, head falling into his hands. It was like a puppet having its strings cut, and Kanut watched on with wide eyes. It was suddenly clear that this man actually cared about Zuko. No one else in that damned family cared, but this one did. Enough for them to find common ground, at least. 

“Listen,” Kanut said, leaning forward urgently, “between the two of us, we can get him back. We have to.” 

He didn’t know where this comradery came from, but he knew this anger. This was his father’s anger handed to him in fists. It had always lived in him, and he’d hated that for a long time. Zuko had taught him to come to terms with it. He hadn’t even meant to. Zuko taught Kanut so much, and now, Kanut would pay him back. 

“Ah,” the General collected himself, eyebrow quirking, “I have a plan.” 

He had a mischievousness to him, despite his age, and it almost floored Kanut with its suddenness. 

“Well, General, do tell.” Kanut urged. 

“Please, just call me Iroh.” The Dragon of the West said, and Kanut blinked dumbly for a few seconds before clearing his throat. 

“Okay Iroh, what’s your grand plan?” 

The muggy air of the cell felt heavy between them, miles of Fire Nation territory trapping them in, but despite the odds, Iroh began to grin knowingly. 

____ 

The Western Air Temple was like nothing Tomkin had ever seen. A labyrinth of corridors and hanging pagodas and arches carved from the very cliff face the temple was built into, and _rooms_. Tomkin focussed on the rooms. There were dozens of them. If he wanted to set up his bedroll in his own personal room, he easily could. And then Nanook could go next door, or even a room a few rooms down, because there were just _that many rooms_. Tomkin was used to sleeping either in tents or in the swaying berth deck. This wasn’t something he was familiar with, and that was exciting. 

Haru, Teo and The Duke ran off almost as soon as they arrived. Tomkin couldn’t blame them. If he had his way, he’d be going with them, lured by the suggestion of more rooms, _secret_ ones. But a stern look from Nanook was all he needed to remember the responsibility on his shoulders now, and so the group of them sat beneath an overhang. The _group_ being him, Nanook, Sokka, Katara, Toph and the Avatar. _The Avatar_. Tomkin was trying not to stare. This obviously wasn’t the first time Tomkin had seen the Avatar up close, but the first time he saw him, the Avatar was unconscious, and then he was flying away with a glider, and then they were on a battlefield. Now though, there were only six of them, sat in relative calm, all of them completely conscious and the Avatar particularly restless. Katara had practically dragged him over to sit with them. 

Nanook elbowed Tomkin just as everyone was settling on the rocks. “Stop staring.” 

“I am not _staring_.” Tomkin hissed, too quiet for the others to hear. 

“Are too.” Nanook countered. "It’s weird. You look like you did in the infirmary.” 

Tomkin was too surprised to hold back the choked, spluttered laugh that escaped him. Nanook could have meant anything, but the slight curl to his grin, the flash in his blue eyes; he had to mean what Tomkin thought he did. 

The infirmary. Tomkin and Nanook sat on Kanut’s bunk, plates before them, and Tomkin unable to stop staring at the firebender he swore he’d offended. 

Aput had once joked that Tomkin and Nanook were like Tui and La, push and pull – opposites. Tomkin; loud, unapologetic, and with his heart on his sleeve. Nanook; quiet, sensible, and deep as the ocean. When Tomkin’s parents died, he found it helped to talk about them, usually with Hakoda. He talked and talked and cried a great deal, and he let it out. There was so much to let out from such a great loss that it still took years to stop pouring, but these days, he felt simply like there was just an empty hole in his heart. It would always be there, but he’d learnt to breathe around it, and had learnt to not let it fill with anger, or hate. 

Nanook, though, didn’t tend to talk about the things that bothered him. He’d think relentlessly. He’d think about what he should have done different, think about what was said, think about all the awful things his mind could conjure, and he’d think himself into a dark place where he’d refuse to let anyone guide him out. 

Zuko was different for both of them. 

Tomkin, always the talker, found that even when he wanted to talk, he just couldn’t find the words for Zuko, and that caused it all to twist within him, unspoken and boiling and agonising. 

And Nanook, always the thinker, drew Zuko into a place deep inside and refused to let him out. 

The reference to the infirmary was simple, quick, natural, but it was also a silent offer. Zuko deserved to be in the light, they both knew it. It had been four months. Maybe Nanook had been spurred by the knowledge that at least Fong was far away from Zuko now, maybe Nanook realised there couldn’t be any cracks between him and Tomkin now they had this group of kids to take care of, but for whatever reason, Nanook was finally, finally willing to unlock Zuko, just a little. 

“I wasn’t staring in the infirmary, _he_ was.” Tomkin said with a smile that almost split his face, and _Spirits_ , now his eyes were watery. 

“You’re right, he wasn’t staring.” Nanook said thoughtfully. “He was-.” 

“ _Brooding_.” They both said, before dissolving into a strange pained laughter that no one else here could understand. 

“Something you’d like to share with the group?” Sokka asked, eyebrow jumping, and Tomkin realised the others had settled now, staring at the two of them in confusion. 

“No, no, nothing.” Nanook said quickly, expression becoming neutral, because that was just it, wasn’t it? Zuko _wasn’t_ something they wanted to share with the group. 

Sokka frowned. Once, those blue eyes had been perceptive, thoughtful. Over the years, it seemed that had evolved into something sharp, clever, strategic. Tomkin swallowed awkwardly, suddenly feeling like he was keeping a secret. And technically, him and Nanook _were_ keeping a secret. _’Hey, we’re friends with the Prince of the Fire Nation_ ’ was, oddly enough, quite a big deal, and it felt wrong that Sokka and Katara, who they both used to be joined at the hip to, were left out of that. But what was even more wrong was what happened four months ago, and it was just... too much to talk about right now. Not now the rest of the crew were gone, the battle lost, the kids left to pick up the pieces. 

“So, what’s the new plan?” Avatar Aang, the hundred-and-twelve-year-old _Avatar_ , asked, cutting the strange tension. 

“Well, if you ask me,” Sokka said, reanimating himself with a smile, “the new plan is the old plan. You just need to master all four elements and confront the Fire Lord before the comet comes.” 

That was another thing to worry about. Sozin’s Comet. Which was three months away. 

“Oh yeah, that’s great! I'll just do that.” The Avatar said, flicking a rock moodily. The hundred-and-twelve-year-old Avatar was _sulking_. 

“Aang,” Katara said, voice kind, like how she’d sounded when Sokka and Nanook broke Tomkin’s favourite spear a few weeks ago, “no one said it’s going to be easy.” 

“Well, it's not even gonna be possible! Where am I supposed to get a firebending teacher?” The Avatar asked, voice childish. 

Tomkin felt his stomach twist, Nanook tensing beside him. The others continued to bicker, mentioning someone called Jeong Jeong, Toph seeming just as clueless as Tomkin and Nanook from where she sat on a rock higher than everyone else, but Tomkin tuned it out. Avatar Aang needed a firebending teacher. The only firebender Tomkin had ever met past a fight also happened to be the only good firebender he’d ever heard of. 

“We could track down the angry jerk?” Sokka suggested with a grin. “Not seen him in a while.” 

“Prince Zuko? Yeah, I can see that working.” Katara laughed, shaking her head, hand absentmindedly touching her necklace. 

Tomkin didn’t make a habit of choking on air. It wasn’t very attractive, and was all round unproductive. However, upon hearing the words _Prince Zuko_ come out of _Katara’s_ mouth, nicknamed the _angry jerk_ by Sokka, Tomkin found himself inhaling sharply, so sharply that he began to cough and Nanook had to thump him on the back. 

“What is _with_ you two?” Sokka finally demanded. Tomkin tried to wave him off. _Get a grip_ , he wanted to yell at himself. Logically, he’d known that Sokka and Katara knew Zuko. It was one of the main reasons he hadn’t talked to them about it; he knew they didn’t like Zuko and that was just too much, no matter how entitled they were to that dislike. But hearing it out loud, so casually, when Zuko was out there somewhere, alone and scared and going through... going through something awful, it was like a punch to the gut. 

“What do you mean?” Tomkin asked, voice far too high and not at all subtle. 

“We’re totally normal.” Nanook added, and somehow, he sounded even less convincing. 

“Lie.” Toph said breezily, one foot swinging in the air but the other planted firmly against the rock. Tomkin shot her a quick look before realising he was wasting his time. As if feeling his glare anyway, Toph smiled an evil smile. 

“Can we get back to the plan, please?” Nanook said. The Avatar was cocking his head like a curious bird, and Katara just looked confused, but between Toph and Sokka, there was an air of doubt. 

“Is this about Prickly?” Toph asked, her voice suddenly quieter, and Tomkin had to remind himself again not to bother glaring at her. He still didn't know why Toph knew Zuko as Prickly, and he was sure in any other situation he’d find it hilarious. As it was, he didn’t find it hilarious. Toph had met Zuko in Gaoling, and he hadn’t given her his name, telling her only that he was with the Water Tribe. She was the last person to see him before he disappeared. She also didn’t know that he was Prince Zuko, and Tomkin wasn’t eager to be the one to explain that to her, for the same reasons he couldn’t bring himself to explain it to Sokka and Katara. Him and Nanook had decided back on the ship that they’d leave that job to Hakoda. What happened on the Day of Black Sun didn’t change that. If anything, it gave Tomkin hope. Nothing bad could _possibly_ happen to the Chief or any of the others, because then who would explain Zuko? 

“You know, you never actually told us who this Prickly guy was.” Katara pointed out. “Did you just collect him from somewhere? Toph says he was Water Tribe.” 

Tomkin wanted to be anywhere else – particularly one of the temple’s secret rooms – but this conversation had been brewing for weeks now. Distractions like the Avatar’s health and the eclipse had buried it, but now, they were all together with nothing but arduous _waiting_ ahead of them. They had to talk about it sooner or later. 

“He isn’t Water Tribe. He was just-.” 

“We found him-.” 

“Well, technically-” 

Tomkin and Nanook cut each other off before both coming to a thick silence. The joke about the infirmary now seemed so sour, bittersweet. It had been four months and they were just learning how to talk about what happened with each other; they couldn’t even begin to know how to talk about it to people who didn't understand. The few words Tomkin had spoken on the matter seemed to have wedged in his throat like glass, like he’d tried to swallow them, like he’d slashed the flesh and now the blood was dripping hot and heavy into his stomach. _Too soon_ , a kinder part of his mind whispered, _far, far too soon._

“Okay, okay, we’ll leave it for now.” Katara said softly, motherly, and it was like a kick to the ribs, because Tomkin and Nanook were supposed to be taking care of her now, not wallowing in their own problems. 

Tomkin forced a bright smile. “How about we make some dinner?” 

The shift in mood was sudden enough that Toph flinched, so Tomkin turned desperately to Sokka. He pulled a face that he hoped was a clear enough cry for help that his usual partner in boosting morale caught on. Sokka hesitated, his expression perplexed, narrowed on a space between Tomkin and Nanook, eyebrows slightly creased. When he caught Tomkin’s stare though, he blinked, before breaking into a smile. 

“Yes please, I’m _starving_.” He said dramatically. “None of that horrible soup you made the other day though, Katara.” 

Katara slapped his head. “Keep talking like that and you won’t get any food.” 

“I liked the soup.” The Avatar smiled innocently. 

“Thank you, _Aang_.” Katara said with a proud smile. 

“Ugh, you two are giving me diabetes.” Toph said, making a gagging motion. 

“Aang, you only liked the soup because it had no meat in it.” Sokka pointed out. He'd unsheathed his boomerang, twisting it lovingly in his hands. “Which, I might add, is a travesty.” 

“None of my food ever has meat in it!” The Avatar cried, horrified by the implication. “That’s _murder_.” 

“Oh yeah, flaunt your moral compass at us, _oh wise and omnipotent Avatar_.” Sokka grinned, using his boomerang to point at Avatar Aang. “If I'm evil because I like a succulent rabaroo steak every now and then, so be it. This is the price we pay for delicacy.” 

Katara scoffed. “By _‘every now and then’_ do you mean constantly, all the time, every day?” 

Tomkin let himself laugh, watching the group’s easy banter and slotting himself into it naturally. Nanook stayed quiet for a while, before getting up, saying he was going to check on the others. He needed to be alone for a bit. 

That night, no words were shared on the matter, but the group of them still wound up laying their bedrolls in the same room. It was big, ancient, the walls cracked and vines growing over them. One wall was open as a line of columns, looking out into the ravine, but another wall held a mural showing three air bison. It was centuries old, the image faded and weathered, but it was still here. And in front of it, lit by the glowing embers of a dying campfire, they all slept together. What with the battle and the stress and that Spirits-awful walk to the temple cushioned only by Sokka’s insistence they stop momentarily at a small market, Tomkin was exhausted, and found that, despite his troubled mind, he fell quickly to sleep. 

Sokka, however, was wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOVAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IROH AND KANUT!!! T O V A H!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN FUCKING WEEKS TO REVEAL THIS I HOPE YOU LIKE HOW IT WENT DOWN SGHSIUDGHISUG I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY IM REALLY FUCKING EXCITED ABOUT THIS I JUST LOVE HER OKAY


	24. ii. LUNISOLAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *looks at the 100k hits count* OH?????? Ahem I would like to formally show my gratitude but idk how so just know that I have been a useless sack of shit this past week bc I've been walking about the place in literal AWE over the fact that I am This Honoured. Like you guys are really out here. Wow. I'm gonna.... not cry. Definitely not cry. Absolutely not. I ranted enough on tumblr i don’t need to unleash my Emotions onto the ao3 crowd too. ~~(aha unless)~~. Anyways this chapter was supposed to be a short bonus chapter that I realeased in the week. Guess what DIDN’T happen. If you said ‘that’ then u win two gold stars. Stick them on ur fridge or something <3 yeah this turned into a chapter of its own and while I'm not sorry about that, I am sorry for the tease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my fuck the sheer volume of keyboard smashes I received from last chapter was IMMENSE. Another reason I made this chapter separate (because it’s journey so far has been: part of ch23, bonus chapter, fuck it just make it ch24 in its own right) is because what with Tovah and Kanut stealing the show last chapter, I wanted this one to be distinct from those events. And boy am I glad I did because I could never have anticipated just how passionate you guys would get about all this. It still astounds me that you’re all here. Like a statistic like hitting 100k hits is mad enough, but the fact that those of you that are here are not only present but like fully fucking passionate about the characters and story?? Bonkers. Maybe I'm in love. It's nothing you can prove. 
> 
> anyways this wound up being a fun one to write in the end (which is so ridiculous because i wrote all of it today bc i ✨procrastinated✨) so hope you like it. have a lovely week nerds, don't do anything i wouldn't do xx

It was only when Colonel Tovah stilled her ostrich-horse at the crest of a steep, jagged hill, looking down onto a valley dotted with white tents, that Zuko’s mind stopped repeating the words _‘I was sent by your uncle’_ and started questioning the words _‘the Order of the White Lotus.’_ He’d never heard of it before, but the supernova of hearing Uncle Iroh brought up by someone else, someone who wasn’t made of shadows and lies, had left his mind in a foggy nebula. He felt cold, distant, and he didn’t know how to react, so he didn’t. He just walked, holding Zi Se close. 

Climbing onto the ostrich-horse had pulled at the too-tight confines of his skin, threatening to break it as he swallowed a groan, shaking hands gripping the reigns, the looped scars around his wrists flashing before him. If he didn’t fall off before they got to this camp, it would be a miracle. And miracles didn’t often happen in Zuko’s life. 

Zi Se sat in front of him, caged safely in by Zuko’s arms, his back to Zuko’s chest. Zuko didn't fall off, not even as the arduous ride saw the moon trudge across the horizon. Its white gaze stared down on Zuko like a theatre limelight, bathing him in its glow, blinding him. It hurt but he could hardly tear his eyes away. He wanted to remember the moon. He didn’t want to forget it when it was taken from him again. ( _Tui_ , he almost whispered. They called it _Tui_.) 

As Zi Se dozed off and as Tovah didn’t bother to make conversation, Zuko was left abandoned to his thoughts. (As he had been for four months.) (His sanity had been kept in place by a five-year-old, for fucks sake.) He thought of smooth robes, the clatter of pai sho tiles, the smell of jasmine tea (Zuko’s favourite) and ginseng tea ( _his_ favourite.) _A moment of quiet is good for your mental well-being_. Zuko scoffed, earning a look from Tovah. What about four months of quiet? Was that any good, Uncle? 

The camp was small, sat shy of a river weaving through the valley and almost hidden by the rolling hills of the Earth Kingdom, consisting of a few dozen tents and circled by a tall bamboo fence. 

“We’re here.” Tovah said. Zuko wondered if she was capable of sounding anything but emotionless as he glared at her. 

“Where exactly is _here_?” He questioned, rousing Zi Se, who blinked in surprise, as if he’d expected to wake up to the cell’s darkness. 

Tovah regarded Zuko for a moment, green eyes narrowing a fraction and making Zuko’s skin prickle with the memory of Chan’s stare. He didn’t trust this woman. He needed to rest, catch his breath, _eat_ , but he didn’t trust her. She was probably waiting for him to lower his guard. She probably didn’t even know Uncle. 

“The Order of the White Lotus is an ancient secret society, dedicated to sharing knowledge across national and political divides.” Tovah said, expression smooth as a blade. “We protect truth.” 

Zuko blinked slowly. 

Truth. 

_Truth._

What a flimsy, subjective thing. 

Truth was defined by the person who found it. Truth wasn’t fact-based and it certainly wasn’t logic-based. Truth was the biggest lie out there. And this camp, this ‘society’, was based around that? Say they were, and say by association that Tovah was telling the _truth_ about Iroh, that meant Zuko’s uncle was part of this. How long? Why hadn’t he said anything? 

_Across national and political divides._ That meant unity of the nations. That meant priorities that weren’t the Fire Nation. That meant scheming for peace behind the Fire Lord’s back. 

Was Uncle a traitor? 

(No.) 

(Zuko didn’t care.) 

(Traitor or not, Zuko didn’t care.) 

(Zi Se and Fong were what Zuko cared about.) (No more, no less.) 

Zi Se, as if feeling Zuko’s sharp intake of breath, brushed his fingers against Zuko’s arm, and Zuko looked down at his expectant face. 

“What’s going on?” Zi Se whispered, and Zuko had never realised the extent of Zi Se’s quietness until now. Layered with the gentle breeze, the sound of the forest, even the distant sounds of the camp, Zi Se’s words were no more than a breath. 

The kid needed food, rest, a healer. They weren’t safe, but they were away from Fong, and that meant these impossibilities were now within reach again. 

“It’s okay, we’re just gonna stay here a while.” Zuko said, eyeing the camp below them, then turning his glare on Tovah, who still watched like everything he did was something to study. If she caught his shift in tone, his insistence of clarifying that their stay here would be temporary, then she didn’t comment on it, instead digging her heels into the ribs of her ostrich-horse and setting off down the hill. 

“When your ship went down, your uncle was told by the crew that you’d probably drowned. No one saw for sure if the Water Tribe got you." Tovah said, assuming Zuko was following, and it infuriated him that he was, though that frustration was quickly drowned by the paralysing wave of simple shock that struck him. He hadn’t expected to suddenly be reminded of that day on the Erlong. He hadn’t been prepared to remember that. Not here. Not like this. He pushed it down. He didn’t smell the salty waves or feel blood dribbling between his shoulder blades or see a once terrifying warrior turned nuisance turned fragile friend turned stranger. None of it mattered. 

“Well, they did.” Zuko said, tone moody and betraying nothing. 

“Indeed.” Tovah said. “But even without that certainty, Iroh still searched for you. Initially, he hoped you fell into the water and swam to shore. He alerted all nearby White Lotus agents, me included, and he would have searched the entire Earth Kingdom if he had to. When I informed Iroh that Chief Hakoda told General Fong,” Tovah thankfully missed how Zuko’s entire body tensed, his ostrich-horse jerking slightly, “that you were headed to Ba Sing Se, Iroh believed it, and that’s where he went. He wrote me a letter before he was arrested. I suspect he knew something bad might happen.” 

Tovah pulled her ostrich-horse to face Zuko just as they reached the bottom of the hill, the camp’s looming bamboo fence stood a few metres away. Her green eyes held Zuko still and he found his breath catching in his lungs, not daring to infiltrate the elongated silence between them. 

“He asked me to help him, if things turned out like this.” Tovah said slowly, a breeze stirring her hair and making Zuko grip Zi Se close. “I will bring him back to the camp, but he made himself very clear. You are my priority, and I will keep you safe.” 

She wasn’t the type of person to declare such a thing, Zuko could tell that much. Even from his short time with Tovah, Zuko had seen she was cold and calculated and unempathetic. It should have made it mean more then, that despite that, she would still keep him safe. But Zuko didn’t believe her. Or rather, he didn’t believe _it_. Tovah wasn’t the issue; safety was. He’d never seen it, not truly. 

Truth and safety. 

This whole camp was looking to be a fucking fallacy. 

Zuko and Zi Se were allocated one of the white tents near the river. Tovah left them not long after they arrived, saying she’d bring them food and give them a chance to settle down. Solitude was a small mercy; Zuko knew that. It seemed him and the Colonel both had a deep understanding of the world’s cruelty, and even if she didn’t care about him past Iroh, she at least knew that before he looked at his injuries, or quenched his thirst, or even ate, Zuko first just needed a moment of quiet. 

He escaped. 

Him and Zi Se escaped. 

And that was a lot to take in. 

“I like her.” Zi Se said quietly. He'd entered the tent with an adroitness Zuko’s own posture, tense and ready for _something_ , lacked, surveying the simple layout and running young fingers against the tarp. Two bedrolls, some fresh clothes, and nothing else. Impersonalised. Still, it was the height of luxury compared to a bloody floor and grey prison tunics. 

Zuko had been stood at the tent’s entrance, trying to put off going inside and abandoning the sky that he only just got back, but Zi Se’s words shook him back to reality. He walked forward, kneeling in front of him. Like this, they were the same height. 

“I need you to promise me something, Zi Se.” Zuko whispered, almost desperate. 

Zi Se frowned, holding his necklace. “What?” 

“Promise me that you won’t trust anyone here, you understand?” Zuko said, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder in favour of staring Zi Se down, ensuring he was listening. “No matter what they tell you, don’t trust them. It's me and you, kid. They-.” Zuko cut himself off, suddenly choking on the words. He'd been promised safety before and it had died screaming. He wouldn’t let Tovah’s falsehoods lure Zi Se into the same fate. 

“These people can’t keep you safe.” Zuko finally breathed, carding his fingers gently through Zi Se’s hair. “Not like I can.” 

Zi Se stared at him for a long moment, before nodding. “I promise I won’t trust them.” He said, wrapping his arms around Zuko’s neck, leaning against him as he had every night for four months. (A promise; the currency of children.) Zuko held him close without hesitation, and Zi Se smelt of dirt and old blood, but he was _here_ , he was tangible. So many shadows from Zuko’s past had been set ablaze tonight, ignited for the first time in months, but Zi Se was the only one who was actually here. There was a deeper meaning to that, Zuko knew. Zi Se couldn’t trust anyone, but neither could Zuko. (He refused to be burnt again.) 

“Lee?” Zi Se asked timidly, pulling back, twisting his necklace around his fingers. “Did Lanse go to the farm?” 

The question was like a slap to the face; a flash of surprise, and then an aching pain. Zuko had lied about Lanse in the hopes Zi Se’s curiosity would disappear, in the hopes someone would fix it for him, but Zi Se was five, not stupid. Telling him Lanse was in another cell worked when they were at Fong’s base, but now, they were at the White Lotus camp, and Lanse still wasn’t here. 

“What farm?” Zuko asked carefully, feeling very suddenly like he was playing the game this camp was named for. Pai sho was a tactical game; you had to predict your opponent. If Zuko didn’t get this right now, he could break Zi Se’s heart. 

But how do you explain death to a child? 

“We used to have a pet fire ferret called Boo. Well, he was my aunt’s.” Zi Se said, rubbing his nose as he sniffled a little. “And he got super old and slow, and Auntie Ichika said he wasn’t very happy. And then one day,” Zi Se’s eyebrows furrowed; a universal expression of the child who doesn’t understand why things are the way they are just yet, “Boo was gone. She said he went to a real nice farm where he was happy, but he wasn’t coming back.” 

Zuko paled, realising exactly what happened to Boo even if Zi Se didn’t quite get it yet, realising in turn what Zi Se was asking him about Lanse. Zuko had never been sheltered from death. His father believed it was something everyone had to come to terms with, and that it was cowardly to hide from it. Zuko saw a man be executed when he was Zi Se’s age, and Mother had gripped his shoulder firmly to ensure he didn’t look away. Father would know if he looked away. 

The thing was, Zuko knew Zi Se could handle the truth, but he shouldn’t have to. And because Zuko had been forced to, he was more adamant than ever that Zi Se hold onto his youth, his innocence. Whatever was left of it, at least. 

“Your aunt was right about the farm.” Zuko said quietly, sitting on one of the bedrolls and pulling Zi Se into his arms. “It’s... It’s real nice, and Boo will be there." 

“With Lanse?” 

Zuko swallowed. “With Lanse.” 

“So I won’t see him again? Not ever?” Zi Se asked, words choked, almost scared of the answer. Zuko held him tighter, even when small hands pushed at him. This was how they met, all that millennia ago. 

“I’m so sorry, kid.” Zuko pressed a kiss to the crown of Zi Se’s head, his hair coarse and dark, tickling Zuko's nose. For a few more seconds, Zi Se pushed at Zuko, before deflating like all the life had left him, slumping against Zuko’s chest. That was when he began to cry, and Zuko hadn’t seen him cry in so long that it was almost a relief. It was a loud sort of anguish, the hitched sobs of a child feeling pain they’re too small to carry, and Zuko could do nothing but hold Zi Se close. He tired himself out soon enough, falling into a hiccupping sleep on Zuko’s lap. 

Zuko stayed on guard, refusing to give into the exhaustion that threatened to drown him. He didn’t trust Tovah or this camp, and Zi Se was the most precious thing in the world. It was Zuko’s job to protect him, and he’d do so with every inch of his broken body. 

____ 

Sokka had spent the first night at the Western Air Temple wide awake, and was up and about the moment he heard the rhythmic breathing of those around him indicating that the group were fast asleep. This behaviour was unusual for a number of reasons. Reason number 1: tiptoeing around your sleeping friends in search of a secret lair is usually considered abnormal. Reason number 2: Sokka was a growing boy who needed his beauty sleep, and aforementioned sneaking was interrupting that. And finally, reason number 3: Sokka was hiding something from the others. Sokka was hiding something from _Katara_. They were supposed to tell each other everything, but on a few rare occasions, her position as his baby sister surpassed her position as his best friend. 

He could hardly embroil his baby sister in a prison break now, could he? 

His secret lair wound up being on one of the temple’s highest floors, at the very end of the corridor. It was a small, dilapidated old room, half of the stone swallowed up by the ravine. It smelt of mould in here, and Sokka was highly concerned about the structural stability, but despite that, it was positioned in such a way that he could hear anyone coming down the corridor by the loud echo their footsteps made, and it looked out from the cliff-face in such a way that no one could see him in here from below. 

It was perfect. 

“Okay.” Sokka said, flexing his fingers, talking to shadows and a single, glowing candle. “Let’s do this.” 

He began to unpack scrolls from his bag, scrolls he’d kept hidden beneath his personal stash of seal jerky – that he’d added an impromptu lock to since Tomkin arrived with a penchant for them – and splayed them out on the floor until he was surrounded by them. It felt like parchment carpeted the entire room except the space Sokka took up, and he couldn’t help the excited grin that lit up his face in the glow of the candle. 

Phase 1 of Sokka’s Brilliant Fuck The Fire Nation I’m Too Young To Be A Vigilante But I’ll Do It Anyway plan was complete. He'd convinced the others to stop at a market on their way to the Western Air Temple, and tried not to be offended by how easily they were convinced that he just wanted food. Nobody even _questioned_ it, and off Sokka went. Unfortunately, he didn’t get any food, because the moment he scurried away from Appa and Nanook’s narrowed gaze, he began to ask around. He did an excellent job, even if he did say so himself. Not being suspicious while asking Fire Nation citizens about their nation’s various prisons was, shockingly, rather difficult, but no one seemed to suspect anything. It seemed Sokka’s love of literature had made an actor of him. Kanut would pull his hair out at even the thought. 

He got told a lot of information and wrote as much of it down as he could, and then one friendly-by-Fire-Nation-standards couple pointed him to a man who sold maps, and it wasn’t even a _little bit_ infuriating that Sokka and the others had once risked being eaten by a giant knowledge spirit in order to get a map of the Fire Nation yet this merchant was simply selling them like they were as common as moon peaches, not at _all._ So now, Sokka had a plethora of information surrounding him, and knew of at least ten Fire Nation prisons. 

But his dad could only be in one of them, and finding out which one was phase 2 of Sokka’s plan. 

By their second night at the temple, Sokka had narrowed his search down to three prisons. Shuhon Prison, Capital City Prison, and Tui and La forbid, a horrific looking prison called the Boiling Rock, like _that_ wasn’t ominous. 

Shuhon Prison was located on the coast of Shuhon Island. When Team Avatar were there, Sokka and Toph had almost singlehandedly increased the capital’s shadow market with their scams, and it was also where Sokka got Hawky. _Happy times_ , Sokka reminisced. 

The prison itself didn’t look too foreboding, and everything Sokka read about it told him that, while it was for serious offenders, it wasn’t the kind of place a Chief would be sent. The rest of the warriors maybe, hence Sokka highlighting it, but not Hakoda. 

Capital City Prison seemed equally unlikely, as it was reserved almost solely for Fire Nationers, hence its proximity to the heart of the nation. Sokka mainly set this one aside because he didn’t want to come to terms with where he was being pointed, but as he sat in his secret lair one morning, the sunrise washing in, he knew it was an inevitable conclusion. Sokka had weeded through so much information in order to narrow it down to these three prisons; he knew it was _one_ of them. And if it wasn’t Shuhon Prison, and it wasn’t Capital City Prison, that only left one other option. 

An option that had been described as a prison sat in a literal boiling lake, a place of damnation, a place where people went in and never came out, a place that one townsperson had told Sokka was _impregnable._

Sokka stared at the makeshift file he’d created on the Boiling Rock prison, and found himself once again wondering what he’d done in a past life to make the universe hate him this much. 

____ 

Zuko and Zi Se’s tent was positioned in such a way that when the sun rose, it ignited the river in a palette of oranges and yellows, mere metres from the tent’s entrance. Zuko had been at the White Lotus camp for three days now, and this was the first time he’d woken up for the sunrise. His sleep was a fragmented, battered thing. He felt like he was freefalling, spinning out of control as his body tried to stabilise, tried to reconnect and hold still while everything spun around him. After four months of being severed from Agni and in turn hardly sleeping, it was a wonder Zuko managed to drift off at all, and then, it was a wonder he woke up. But he did. Every time, his eyes would blink open again, and he’d feel his heart in his throat every time he was met with darkness, and every time, _he was still here_. (He waited for it to be a dream, or a particularly cruel nightmare.) (But it was real, it was real, it was real.) 

And now, he found himself sat on the river bank. Zi Se was sleeping and Zuko was trying not to implode. He'd wrapped his arms around himself, clutching hard enough that he hissed when his bruised ribs sang with pain. There had been a healer that visited him and Zi Se yesterday. Zuko hadn’t let the man come near him, but he knew Zi Se needed to be checked over, and he watched closely, ready to intervene. The healer had seemed attentive, and he made jokes that made Zi Se laugh, and when he finally turned to Zuko, he looked relieved. 

“He’s malnourished, but that’s something we can fix with a week or two of a good diet.” The healer had said, and Zuko remembered the man’s worried frown when Zi Se had taken his tunic off to reveal protruding ribs and jumping collarbones. 

“He needs rest, and his vitamin levels are low, but he’s not got any injuries to speak of. I'm astounded, honestly.” The healer had said, looking to Zuko like he was a puzzle that needed solving. Zuko hardly noticed, almost choking on his sigh of relief. He'd lost everything to protect Zi Se in that cell, taking every beating and harsh word and interrogation with the knowledge that it kept Zi Se safe for a little longer. Spider didn’t pick on Zi Se much, but he wouldn’t have hesitated to hurt him if Zi Se drew his eye. (He hadn’t hesitated to hurt Lanse.) 

“I’m also a little concerned about him chewing that necklace so much.” The healer said. Zi Se had gone to the other corner of the tent by now, and was, as always, fiddling with his necklace. 

“Why? He always does that.” Zuko said, caught off guard and a little aggravated the healer was focussing on something so mundane. 

“You ever wondered why?” The healer had asked, raising an eyebrow, and he looked suddenly so smug, like he was better than Zuko, like he could do a better job of taking care of Zi Se. But he wasn’t there when Zuko swallowed his terror to yell at Spider, taking his punches and trying not to look pained so Zi Se wouldn’t worry so much. He wasn’t there when Zuko pushed every instinct down in order to give Zi Se most of the food, even after he’d fought for it, even though he was starving. He wasn’t there when Zuko held Zi Se back as his own brother was torn from him, screaming and sobbing. 

The healer wasn’t there, and he thought he could lecture Zuko? 

“I just think, what with a poor diet and bad sanitary conditions, it might be likely that he has some tooth decay, and that he uses the necklace for the pain-.” 

“Yeah, well I think he’s been a bit too fucking busy to worry about dental health.” Zuko snarled, and his glare had been venomous. 

“I just think-.” 

“I think you should leave it alone.” Zuko cut the healer off, and the healer must have finally heard Zuko’s tone, because he sighed in defeat. (Perhaps he recognised that Zuko was taking that comment personally, not that Zuko would show it.) 

Zuko took a deep breath. Zi Se came first, always. He’d swallow his hatred of this man if it meant taking care of the kid. A breath in. A breath out. Meditative. It felt vacant without his chi responding to it. 

“And what about, you know,” Zuko tapped his head, speaking quieter, " _mentally?_ " 

The healer was silent a moment, flicking a glance to Zi Se, before walking. Zuko followed him outside. 

“That child may not have physically undergone much violence, but he still witnessed things I can’t even begin to imagine.” The healer had said, voice sad, _pitying_. “It will affect him. I dare say it will affect him in unpredictable ways. But the thing about children,” the healer worked his jaw, as if struggling with the words, as if he didn’t know whether this was a good thing or not, “is that when they undergo such great trauma at such a young age, their minds tend to block it out. I think, Your Highness, that he won’t have much memory of any of this in a few year's time.” 

Zuko stared, stomach turning like it had done for his first few weeks at sea, when he was thirteen and in pain. Now, seventeen and crippled by inanition, he couldn’t help but frown. It didn’t seem right that a child forget an entire chunk of their childhood, especially because of something horrific, but it seemed worse that Zi Se be burdened with it. He deserved to be able to forget this. Zuko’s discomfort didn’t come from admitting that, it came from something else. There was an eagle-hawk in his chest still, organic and restless, and he was beginning to realise that it hatched a long, long time ago. As Zuko thought of Zi Se forgetting all this pain and darkness and fear, as Zuko knew he himself would never be allowed such a mercy, he felt claws in his marrow, a sharp, bloody beak tearing down his sternum. It would rip him apart if it meant it could escape. 

With these thoughts flying through his head, he barely heard what the healer said next. Something about wanting to check Zuko over too, but Zuko never agreed to that. He was just fine. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine. His wounds would heal with or without the healer’s ridiculous observations. The pain was bearable. He could handle it. Zuko's body was very good at being broken. Hurting was his natural state. 

But the healer was worried, said Zuko’s burns needed salve, cuts needed stitches, mind needed rest, or else they’d heal wrong and scar or get infected or both. Scarred was also Zuko’s natural state. 

The healer should have quit while he was ahead. Instead, he reached forward. Tovah had arrived not long after to tell Zuko off. The camp only had one healer, and he now had a broken arm. 

Except when Tovah emerged outside Zuko’s tent, she didn’t look angry, or… or anything. She didn’t bring up the healer. She simply told Zuko that they’d managed to get new information on the recently failed invasion. Zuko didn’t know why she was telling him, but still, her gaze was steady. _Fong is being sent to the Boiling Rock prison,_ she’d said, _I just thought you should know._

Zuko didn’t care. That was a general statement. If he didn’t care, it couldn’t hurt him, and that was the adage he lived by these days. If he focussed on Zi Se, he didn’t have to focus on himself. It was cowardly, he knew that. But there was so much pain, and he didn’t know if he could handle any more. Perhaps this was what happened when humans reach their limit; they simply ceased. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t exactly alive. He was a ghost haunting his own body, a headline traced over again and again until it faded into incoherency and memory, though the two were one and the same. Zi Se would be able to forget what happened. Zuko would always remember. (And he didn’t care.) 

(He didn’t care.) 

(He didn’t care.) 

Except now, Zuko was sat on the riverbank watching the sunrise, and it was hard not to care when he was witnessing Agni rise before him, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in years. 

It wasn’t a particularly good sunrise, and compared to the thousands Zuko had seen, it would normally be forgettable, tainted by clouds and the steel grey sky that threatened bad weather. But the way the red bled onto the river, dancing over the waves, yellow blushing across the freckled sky, all of it _golden_ \- it was incandescent and primordial and overwhelming. And as it unfolded before Zuko, he breathed in deep, and the air didn’t feel like it caught on anything. He still felt like he was being crushed by a weight he couldn’t name, torn apart from the inside out by a pest he couldn’t place, but for that moment, he could at least breathe. The sky was on fire and Zuko was allowed to see it, and his lips curled into the smallest smile as he turned his face towards the sun, eyes fluttering shut. It was just so warm, so _there_ , and something stirred deep in his gut. The sky dripped onto his skin like honey, lighting his pale, shaking hands, and he focussed on that heat. Small as a candleflame, but _present._ He reached deep down, breathing cleanly and fully, focussing, and there it was. 

A spark. 

“What are you doing?” Zi Se’s groggy voice sounded and Zuko jumped. His mind clocked that it was Zi Se approaching, but his body still reacted, and he was on his feet before Zi Se had even left the tent. 

“It’s early, you should go back to bed." Zuko said, ignoring Zi Se’s question and ignoring his heart’s sporadic pace. Zi Se looked a little perplexed, and Zuko frowned, sitting back on the riverbank and waiting. Sure enough, Zi Se wordlessly sat by his side, crossing his legs. 

“What’s wrong?" Zuko asked softly. 

Zi Se threw moody looks at the river like it had personally offended him. “Had a nightmare.” He muttered, and the fragility of his voice told Zuko just how shaken Zi Se was over this. 

“What about?” 

It went quiet for a few seconds, but the two of them had built their entire relationship around quietness. Zuko just waited, knowing Zi Se, like he did, struggled finding the right words sometimes. 

“Lots of things." Zi Se finally said, his lower lip wobbling a little. “I was back in the cell, and the General took you away, just like they took Lanse.” 

Zuko sucked in a breath, hands clenching into fists. When Zi Se looked up at him, his amber eyes were glassy, tears welling in the corners. 

“I’m so scared.” Zi Se whispered, rubbing his face with his sleeve, but all it did was knock away a few stray tears that were now coming heavier and quicker. “I keep thinking he’s gonna find us and take us back. I don’t wanna go back.” 

Zi Se was losing it now, the sort of childish tantrum Zuko vaguely remembered Azula having before she learnt that children are to be seen and not heard. But when Azula was upset, she burned things and became cruel. Zi Se just cried, and it broke Zuko’s heart. 

“Hey,” Zuko hushed, grabbing Zi Se’s hand and holding it tight, “I told you I'd keep you safe, didn’t I? Fong will never get us. Not again.” 

“Promise?” Zi Se asked, and it stopped Zuko short. 

It stopped him short because he realised he couldn’t actually promise that. He himself had thought he’d seen Fong's cruel eyes in the shadows, heard his horrible laughter echoing through the valley. Fong was out there. Tovah had told him their little invasion had failed (the Fire Nation was undefeatable; Zuko had hardly blinked at the news) and now Fong was a prisoner at the Boiling Rock, but if he was alive, he was a threat. Zi Se and Fong, Zuko had said time and time again that those two were his priorities. Tovah had handed him his sword and he had chosen not to use it, but what if he didn’t have a choice? He’d known he wanted to make Fong pay, but until now, it had been in a ‘ _if I ever see him again_ ’ sense. Apathy was safe. Choosing to do nothing was safe. But Zi Se came first. Zi Se came first and Zi Se was scared and Zi Se was asking Zuko to promise him something that Zuko couldn’t promise. How could he look this kid in the eye and vow to protect him when deep down he was letting a threat live? 

Zuko felt sick suddenly, pulling away from Zi Se and letting his head fall into his hands. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to have escaped the violence. He was supposed to be free. 

But Zi Se came first. 

“Lee?” Zi Se asked, eyes worried now, hand pulling on Zuko’s sleeve. 

“We need to talk about that.” Zuko husked, not lifting his head. “My name isn’t Lee.” 

“Yes, it is.” Zi Se said, frowning, and Zuko almost laughed at the bluntness of it. 

“No,” Zuko looked up, “it isn’t.” 

“Well, if you aren’t called Lee, then what are you called?” Zi Se seemed more confused by the second. 

Zuko swallowed the lump in his throat. “Zuko. Prince Zuko, or I used to be.” 

Zi Se stared. The seconds became minutes, and Zi Se continued to stare. He was smarter than most kids his age, and Zuko definitely wasn’t biased, but this seemed to have stumped him. 

“So,” Zi Se said slowly, “you lied. And you’re gonna be Fire Lord?” Then his eyes widened, and he grinned. “Are you actually gonna make a turtleduck holiday?” 

Zuko choked out a laugh, surprising himself and feeling like he’d just received a minor electric shock. He’d expected Zi Se to be angry, but it seemed another benefit of youth was ease of acceptance. Another thing Zi Se got that Zuko didn’t. 

“If you behave, I'll think about it.” Zuko said, lifting his chin, and Zi Se gasped. 

“No fair!” He cried, getting to his feet so he was an inch taller than Zuko, stumbling against him. Zuko mockingly let himself fall, back against the grass and Zi Se on his chest. 

“Aha!” Zi Se yelled, a smile splitting his face. “I’ve beaten the Fire Prince!” 

“I’m being attacked by a vicious warrior!” Zuko laughed, arms wrapping around Zi Se and holding the giggling kid close. 

Agni stood before them, and for that short moment, their shadows fell behind them. 

____ 

“Stop right there.” 

Sokka froze in the temple’s arched entrance, bag clutched in his arms, at the sound of Nanook’s quiet but authoritative voice. Or rather _command_ , seeing as he was in charge. The others were sat around the campfire, and Sokka had excused himself to go work on ’battle plans’ like he had done every day for four days now. Nanook, however, had decided now was the perfect time for a conversation. 

Sokka felt very much like a fish seconds away from being netted, but nevertheless, he turned and gave the now staring group his most charming smile, which was very charming indeed. 

“What’s up?” He asked, clearing his throat. No, his voice didn’t _crack._

Nanook narrowed his eyes at him, always scarily observant. "You’re sneaking off again.” He said simply. 

“He was?” Tomkin asked, bewildered as he finally lifted his head from his rice, but when Nanook shot him a serious glare, he connected the dots, nodding furiously; “I mean, yes, he was. Definitely. Very sneaky.” 

Putting Nanook in charge made sense. For as much as Sokka bitched about it, and he bitched about it _a lot_ , Nanook was still four whole years older than him, and had first-hand experience in the war that was different to Sokka’s, and he was generally a mature and sensible person. 

It was putting Tomkin in charge as well that bothered Sokka. 

Sokka had gotten on just fine. He'd been the one to wrangle the group together, keep them on course, on schedule, keep them alive, this entire time, and instead of seeing that, Hakoda completely ignored it, side-lining Sokka in favour of Tomkin. Don't get him wrong, Sokka loved Tomkin and Nanook, but no amount of love could make Tomkin less of an idiot. His skills lay in other realms, and leadership simply wasn’t one of those realms. 

“I’m not _sneaking_ anywhere.” Sokka argued, feigning offence. 

“To be fair, Snoozles,” Toph said, using a twig to pick between her toes - which was gross, by the way, “you have been slinking off a lot lately. You better not be up to something.” 

“I do not _slink_ anywhere. I _stride_ , and I do so with boldness and elegance.” Sokka said with a proud jerk of his chin. 

Katara didn’t look up from the water she was casually bending around her fingers. “Sokka, we all ate lunch late today because you knocked over the first batch of rice.” 

Sokka scoffed. “It’s not my fault you left it out like that!” Stabbed in the back, and by his own _sister_. The treachery. 

“So if you’re not sneaking or slinking or whatever,” Aang asked with an innocent smile, “then what _are_ you doing? Is everything alright?” 

Because _of course_ that’s what Aang would worry about. 

But everything was not alright, because last night Sokka finalised that there was no way he could ignore the fact that his father had quite clearly been taken to the Boiling Rock. Today, Sokka was going to push everything else away, and he was going to accept it. That was how his brain worked. He clocked all the possible threads, tied them in all the possible ways, and when he came to a knot, he instantly tried to work around it. But sometimes, the only option was the hard option; to untie it. For an analytical mind, focussing on a task like that was near impossible while his brain screamed at him that there had to be another way, so Sokka sometimes had to do this. He'd sit with the information before him, he’d think it over one last time, and then he’d agree to the plan he’d conjured. 

The moment he silently gave himself the all-clear, the plan became set in stone and there wasn’t a person on earth who could stop him from giving it his all. 

Yeah, it was a big deal. 

So no, _Aang_ , Sokka was very much not alright. 

“I’m just going for a walk! Spirits, you guys nag worse than-.” Sokka cut off his exasperated yell right before he said _Tulok_ , the resident worrier amongst warriors, but Tomkin and Nanook both still flinched, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Sokka swallowed down the uncomfortable twist his stomach did in favour of storming off. Storming. _Not_ slinking. 

He barely made it a few steps before he heard someone behind him. 

“Katara, I’m fine-.” Sokka whirled around, but instead of the steadily concerned stare of his sister, he was met with Nanook’s calm expression. 

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, certain he was about to get a berating for snapping at everyone, but instead, Nanook’s gaze softened. 

“You know,” Nanook said, and Sokka had never heard his voice sound so timid, “I get you want to pull back. The invasion was a heavy blow for all of us, but I know you, Sokka. I know you’re taking it personally.” 

Sokka tensed, remembering how his father watched them leave, leaning against Bato, remembering how proud he’d looked, how helpless Sokka had felt. This was Sokka's mistake, so he had to be the one to fix it. 

“I should’ve done more, or made us retreat sooner.” Sokka mumbled, unable to keep the frustration from his words. The truth was, Sokka was enraged with himself. He worked on his plans at night because it was easier to keep them secret that way, but he also worked on them at night because every time he closed his eyes, he pictured what the other warriors were going through. He wasn’t like Aang and Toph, or even Katara. He was old enough to know what happened to people in this war, and his mind flogged him with images of anguish and pain. The only other people here who understood were Tomkin and Nanook, and Sokka had been so excited to reignite their friendship, to be with people his age, _really_ his age, as in _finally not younger than him_ , but now they were here, and they were... off. He could penetrate their friendship on a surface level, but it had a massiveness to it now, a complexity. Sometimes, someone would say something, and Tomkin would shoot Nanook a look, and Nanook would tap his finger, and they’d have an entire conversation right there. _Without_ Sokka. 

Sokka was hiding something, but they were too. 

“This is about more than the invasion, isn’t it?” Nanook asked suddenly, and Tui and La, he was staring at Sokka’s bag. It was a very nice bag, in fairness. Sokka had bought it in Gaoling right before they met Toph. It was green and coincidentally matched the Earth Rumble victor’s belt, and had golden stitching and-. 

Yeah, that wasn’t relevant, and Sokka wasn’t panicking, and Nanook definitely wasn’t staring because he _liked the bag._

“I’m fine, Nan. Really.” Sokka said, and quickly turned to leave, but Nanook’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the arm and stilling him in a firm grip. 

“You know, a while back,” Nanook said, eyes wide, voice quiet, like he was stepping on breaking ice, like he didn’t know how to manoeuvre himself, “a friend of mine kept saying stuff like that, and he wound up hurting himself and the people around him. Shoving your feelings away doesn’t fix things, Sokka.” 

Sokka shrugged off his grip, faking a dry laugh to hide his stinging confusion. “Thanks, but I struggle to believe Tomkin ever lied about his feelings.” 

It was quiet for a second. 

“Tomkin.” Nanook repeated slowly, before blinking. “Yeah, Tomkin.” 

_Weird,_ Sokka thought, _very, very weird_. But he didn’t have time for this. He'd spent four days planning, and as necessary as they were, they’d still dragged. Now, it was time for action, and he couldn’t get away from Nanook quick enough, striding – not slinking – down the corridor and running the moment he was around the corner. 

He had to get his dad. 

He had to fix what he’d done. 

He had to keep his family safe. 

____ 

One of the things Tovah told Zuko when they first arrived was that Iroh had salvaged a lot of possessions from the wreck of the Erlong, and it was all kept in a tent on the edge of camp, if Zuko wanted to go there. Zuko, more than almost anything, did not want to go there. He kept his emotions trapped in a fragile cage; bringing up old memories from a simpler time, the time _before_ , would do nothing but slot a key in the lock. Tovah must have known this, because she smiled coldly before taking Zuko’s Dao from him. Apparently, carrying weapons around the camp was frowned upon, as they were so fond of peace. _No matter_ , Tovah had said, _I’ll put it with the rest of your things._

Zuko had woken up with every sunrise since that first one, and that spark he’d felt had only grown stronger. He kindled it, coddled it, and begged it to come back to him, but all the fire did was whisper weakly back. A dead thing. Or rather, a dying thing. 

He'd need more if he was going to face Fong. 

_If_ , he tried to remind himself, because while his mind had pushed to that conclusion, he still reeled from it, from the thought of having to be anywhere near that monster ever again. But fear was just a feeling, and Zuko pushed it away. 

Fear was just a feeling, and this tent held only objects. Neither could hurt him. 

Zuko took a steadying breath and walked inside. 

The tent was white, like all the tents here, and tiny, reserved for storage rather than living. The first thing Zuko noticed, though, was the _shadows_. They reared up the tarp, ran along the dirt, ravaged the light into something incomprehensible, and scattered amongst them were Zuko’s things. 

Mother always used to smell of roses. She spent a lot of time in her garden; it was one of the palace’s few solaces. She grew plum blossoms and moon peaches and lilies and tulips, and the petals would cling to her robes and sometimes fall onto Zuko’s face like gentle rain. But her favourites were the roses, of which she had only a small patch, in the farthest corner of the garden. Red roses, blooming like stains of blood, thorned and angry. She planted them first, before Zuko was born, and she sometimes talked to them in a hushed, sad voice. Once, Zuko heard her call them _Ikem_. He suspected she planted them to remember someone, but she never told him who. She just cared for them like they were rubies, not flowers, and the scent of them clung to her, battling the other fragrances and filling her touch with the smell of roses. 

When she left, Zuko remembered her in vivid ways. She had black hair. She had gold eyes. She squeezed him twice every time she hugged him. Physical things like that haunted him, and even now, all these years later, he remembered them clearly enough to have seen her yesterday. 

But once, when he was fourteen, he’d been searching the Earth Kingdom for the Avatar when he’d come across a rose bush, and the scent had slammed into him, because he’d forgotten that Mother used to smell of roses until that exact moment. 

That same déjà vu, that sickening disorientation, that punch of nostalgia that hurt more than healed, struck Zuko now, because in this tent were things he’d forgotten to even remember. 

A scrap of metal from the Erlong’s hull, and Zuko remembered the way the sun’s rays danced specifically on the dull metal, different to how it bounced straight off the clean shine of Zhao’s ships, instead almost absorbing into the hull. Sometimes, it would look like the Erlong was burning. 

A sash of red from a crewman’s uniform, and Zuko remembered the pinched faces of his crew. _What do you know about respect?_ A Lieutenant’s anger, snarled and scathing. _What should I expect from a spoiled Prince?_

A teapot with the spout broken off, and Zuko remembered sitting restlessly through stupid pai sho games, playing blindly so he could lose quickly, suffering through proverbs. He never refused to play though. Not once. 

A banjo in the corner and a book on past Avatars covered in dust and a golden armband and all of a sudden the tent felt like it was falling down on Zuko, every breath he gasped making the fabric of it catch in his mouth, down his throat, into his lungs. Choking on these lifeless things, these hollow things, these gone things. 

Agni, he wanted it back. He wanted it all back. 

It was all him, the Zuko he used to be. He wasn’t perfect; he’d never been perfect. He was a Fire Prince and he was angry and confused, but he was ignorant. He missed that. He craved that ignorance, that naivety. He wanted to reach into the bowels of these memories and grip himself by the shoulders. _Something awful is coming_ , he wanted to scream, _something horrible, and it’s going to ruin you_. But he was just screaming underwater, doing nothing but sending himself further down. He came here for his sword but all he’d done was throw an anchor into the past, dragging along the ocean bed of his mind, memories disrupting in clouds of sand. And he was choking on it all. The shadows twisted behind each new object, and they were here, and they were created by his own hand, but also... also by someone else’s. 

Fong did this to him. Fong took his mind and mutilated it into something he didn’t recognise. Fong did this to him and apathy wasn’t working because Fong was still out there and Zi Se wasn’t safe and Zuko needed to fucking choose. 

He needed to choose. 

He couldn’t be on the fence. He couldn’t be nothing. 

And there was his sword, still in its scabbard, half-shadowed and half-lit by the daylight that filtered through the tent’s entrance. 

Zuko remembered the last time he properly held his swords. One half of him was buried in the sand of a beach near Gaoling, the other half of him had been used to wildly fight off Oro. Four months later, and Zuko was neither of the boys he’d been that night. Like his firebending, this was another thing he’d detached himself from, but he wasn’t the boy turned wreckage in this tent either. He was something new, and his firebending would come back, and he had to choose. 

Zuko would kill Fong. 

Whatever it took, he would get what was owed to him, even if he had to go to the Boiling Rock himself, tearing it down brick by brick. He'd get what was owed to him. Time; a life. He would ensure Zi Se could never be hurt by that man ever again. He'd make the world safer for them both. 

Fong and Zi Se. 

Fong, for Zi Se. 

It was like throwing kindling on a fire. Everything in him suddenly flared, and he felt it all, felt the burning, the shrivel of old skin charring into something new, something stronger. Zuko felt hatred in every sinew, every nerve, every drop of blood. He breathed this hate and he lived this hate. This was the option he chose, and there was no going back now, and with his heart thundering in his ears, he shakily held up his hand. 

He inhaled, it clicked in with his chi, it flowed with the rush and burn of this bitterness, and he concentrated it on his hand. A single flame from a single hand should have been easy, but it wasn’t. 

Zuko thought of Fong’s agonising gaze, thought of his hair in his fist, thought of his skin breaking again and again and again, thought of how he’d begged, screamed, prayed for clemency, thought of how it never came. 

Zuko, hateful. 

Zuko, vengeful. 

He curled his fingers, and a flame burst from his skin, and as it seethed in his palm, it was _blue._

Zuko, burning. 

____ 

Yue was beautiful tonight as she lit up the temple, throwing Sokka’s friends into lambent hues of silver. They were all fast asleep. Why wouldn’t they be, in the middle of the night? Sokka, however, had just finished tucking a letter into Momo’s oblivious grip, his bag heavy with supplies as he tiptoed over to Appa. The bison grumbled when Sokka started to climb up, but aside that, Appa was cooperative. Whoever said man’s best friend wasn’t the ten ton flying air bison you found in an iceberg? 

Phase 3: break dad out of prison. 

Okay, so maybe that was a little vague, or _a lot_ vague, but Sokka’s plans hadn’t exactly been working out lately, so he was hoping a bit of fluidity would help get him back in gear. He'd just ride Appa to the market he got his information from, shoo him back to Aang – because Appa always came back to Aang – and convert to a different mode of travel in the form of one of the eel-hounds he’d seen being rented out there. That covered his trip _to_ the Boiling Rock, then it was just a matter of getting _into_ the Boiling Rock. Sokka could get a small boat to sail across the lake, staying hidden in the steam. Assuming there was steam, assuming he could get a boat, assuming this shot in the dark actually hit home. 

In that moment, Sokka suddenly felt the urge to get down, put his bag away, go to bed. This was bigger than he’d ever be; he was _way_ out of his depth. Who did he think he was, breaking into a prison with no help? 

But then he saw his friends. The kids – Teo, Haru, The Duke – sleeping in their own corner, subconsciously curling towards one another in the night. Tomkin and Nanook, an inexplicable space between them. Toph, one foot always planted steadily against the floor. Aang, hugging his glider close, clinging to the last few remnants of his culture. Katara, their mother’s necklace glinting beneath Yue’s caress. They'd all lost so much, and Sokka couldn’t stand by and watch them lose even more. 

“Appa,” Sokka said, working his jaw, “yip yip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas is it gay to have an entire chapter of just your two povs where you sometimes vaguely and other times Not Subtly At All parallel each other. Fellas is it-. 
> 
> Also let’s talk about how tovah went HEY BY THE WAY FONG IS IN BOILING ROCK FUN FACT JUST A TOTALLY INNOCENT FUN FACT THAT I DEFINITELY DONT THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO ANYTHING MORALLY QUESTIONABLE WITH NO SIR. Like this is what I mean about her being morally grey. Sure she’s with the white lotus, but she also promotes murder as a form of revenge. I personally think that’s very sexy of her 
> 
> blue fire? boiling rock? a week in the life of zukka in which they're both traumatised and both handling it very differently? yeah this chapter was fun to write once i actually got my shit together and wrote it


	25. ii. Several Prison Breaks Happen At The Same Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes this chapter is a day late no i don't want to talk about it yes im going to talk about it anyway. things have been HECTIC lately and this is SUCH a big chapter in terms of plot and it really did just square up to me behind the bike sheds and took my lunch money. smh. anyway it was my bday on friday which is partially why this chapter is late. im now 18 which means any hangovers i have in weatherspoons will be COMPLETELY LEGAL HANGOVERS. we love to see it
> 
> also go read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812155) by king boom the loml if you're in the mood to SOB (it's lanse and zi se angst i highly recommend) and go read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663601/chapters/67694014) by SolarQueen if you're interested in an original twist on the usual 'zuko kidnapped on a boat au' (the twist being that this time it's sokka on zuko's boat - i love it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in exchange for a late upload may i offer you this mammoth 11k chapter? pls?? 
> 
> okay so the past couple chapters have been very Big Deals in terms of the shit that goes down in them, and that trend is set to continue for another few chapters. i didn't realise how much harder it'd be to write such plot-heavy chapters but i'm struggling a tad with it, and i really don't want that to effect the quality of the story. combine that with everyone screeching at me about universities at the moment, and i've just decided to take the big grown up decision of changing my upload schedule.
> 
> **I will now upload every other saturday.**
> 
> im really sorry about this mainly because i love it when fics upload quite regularly and 2 weeks can feel like a lot, but this is the best thing for taob and me as a writer. when the chapters stop being so plot-heavy, i'll probs switch back to weekly, but for now you're lucky enough to only see me chatting shit here TWICE a month.
> 
> okay ly nerds have a fab 2 weeks don't do anything i wouldn't do xoxoxo

This was stupid. 

Zuko was going to kill Fong. That was a fact. He'd watch Fong bleed the same way the bastard had stood over Zuko. He'd do it for Zi Se, so he could finally look him in the eye, this child that had lost too much, a chunk of his memories overrun by shadows, and promise him that Fong could never, ever hurt them again. 

But Zi Se was also five, and the Boiling Rock was the Fire Nation’s most notorious prison. He couldn’t come with Zuko. That was a fact. 

But how could Zuko possibly leave Zi Se here, in this camp full of... of strangers? Of people he didn’t trust? How could he endanger Zi Se on his mission to protect him? 

Zuko winced, accidentally pulling his bandage too tight. He was sat in his tent, letting the space fall into darkness despite the daylight outside. This was a routine he’d gotten into; everyday, he’d check his injuries. 

Zuko knew better than most how to tell what wounds would scar and what wounds would simply fade into inscrutable stains on what had once been innocent, bloodless skin. Fong often took a knife and left long red scratches in his wake, because it hurt but it wouldn’t scar, and that was almost worse. Zuko _knew_ scars. Scars were legible, coherent, obvious. Scars were something he could point to and say; _this hurt_. 

The scars were grounding, in that sense. 

And now, Zuko twisted with a hiss to trace the vertical lines striping down his back, small and bountiful, almost like a tally chart of blood, and the scratches stung when he touched them, and he would always, always have the memory of his heart thundering, his fingers flexing as he desperately pulled against the earth, unable to turn around and face Fong, completely helpless as sweat mixed with blood. Zuko would always remember how cold the knife was, how biting the questions were, how much he wished he had answers. These memories would plague him, but the wounds were just scratches, and Zuko was terrified of the day they would no longer be there. 

He knew, deep down, that it was a good thing, a win. He knew there was a reclamation to it; that despite the pain and hatred, Fong still left no permanent mark. 

Except that wasn’t true. 

Times the knife dug too deep, times Fong’s anger got the best of him, the burns, the jagged loops of chafed skin surrounding Zuko’s wrists, now scabbed and ugly and sensitive. All of these would be here forever, marring him. 

Zuko would ensure these scars outlived the man who inflicted them. 

He owed himself that much. 

With a steady breath, Zuko wrapped the white bandage around his torso. The healer had frowned at him, quietly horrified, when he first caught Zuko treating himself. A few days ago, when Zuko was fresh out of that cell, Zuko must have looked like a walking wound. But if growing up with Azula taught him anything, it taught him basic first aid. It wasn’t enough. He knew he’d done some of his stitches wrong, and he wasn’t sure how to treat broken ribs because when the healer tried to help, Zuko glared at him so venomously that the man retreated. But Zuko _could_ heal the burns. He was good at healing burns. There was one on his hand, from his last interrogation with Fong. It was small, compared to some of the deeper ones, and it flushed over his far-right knuckles, singing a chorus of pain whenever he clenched his fists. The skin was a horrific red and yellow, shrivelled like it had tried to defend itself from the flames. When he first got it, the skin had blackened slightly. 

Zuko had suffered through the horror of the burn and Zi Se had joked that it looked like a rice cake, and didn’t that just sum everything up? 

Zuko sighed, pulling on a long-sleeved underlayer over his fresh bandages, the fabric thin and expensive between his fingers, covering his pale skin in a black shroud. He pulled a black tunic on top, tying it at his waist at the fold where it met his black trousers. He'd picked this outfit to purposely hide his skin, so as not to immediately give away which nation he was from. He'd picked this outfit to be untraceable, without loyalties; a masked shadow. It was a sick miracle that the clothes survived the sinking Erlong, and an even sharper twist of fate that Uncle had thought to salvage them. 

Dressed in all black, it was almost impossible to see the cartography of anguish that had mapped itself on his skin, and he was almost able to think of moving past this. One day, the bruises and scratches would fade, and his body wouldn’t hurt from being touched. One day, they might be stories instead of scars. 

But that day was not today, and even as he thought it, it seemed childish. Zuko found himself tentatively pushing at the burn on his knuckles, not flinching when the burn pushed back with a barrage of heated pain. Zuko frowned, before holding open his palm, half-dejected, half-curious, and when he called it forward, a weak flame sputtered to life. 

He hadn’t seen blue fire before. He didn’t understand it. In another life, he would have run to Uncle, begging for answers. He'd admit he was scared. Of it. Of himself. Of everything. 

But this was his life now, with Zi Se and blue fire, and every time he saw a torch of orange flame, he still found dread pooling in his bones, while the blue fire had no connotations in his mind. It was a clean slate, about to be splashed with blood. 

“I got us food.” Zi Se announced proudly as he barged into the tent, arms full of various bowls. Zuko didn’t jump; he’d been paying attention and heard footsteps long before Zi Se spoke. 

“All by yourself?” Zuko asked, crushing the fire in his fist before Zi Se could see. It was easier for Zuko to be around fire. He was a firebender; it was part of him. But it ran deeper than that. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d had to teach himself not to fear his element. 

“Uh huh!” Zi Se nodded eagerly, rolling his eyes a little. For the entire time Zuko and Zi Se had been at the White Lotus camp, their food had been monitored. The healer had said they were both malnourished, and that introducing too much food too quickly could lead to something called refeeding syndrome, that could be fatal. As hungry as they were, they were only allowed small portions, that gradually got bigger by the day. Zuko knew the logic of it, but he also saw this man who he didn’t trust purposely withholding food from him, and it took all of Zuko’s willpower not to break the healer’s other arm and eat all the food in sight. He wasn’t even that hungry. Not anymore. It was fascinating what a few days of a normal diet could do. But the phantom hunger, the memory of starving, was an icy memory, a loud one. 

The other White Lotus members had learnt quickly to leave food outside of Zuko and Zi Se’s tent and then, as fast as they could, get the fuck out of sight. 

It wasn’t that Zuko wanted to be aggressive, though he didn’t not want to either, it was just that, no matter how long they’d been here with three balanced meals a day, he couldn’t stop his mind from shifting into the offensive. The moment he saw food, he was suddenly back in that cell, facing off with Chan. He'd fight for it, or he’d starve. It had been that simple, and it wasn’t something he could simply snap out of just because it wasn’t his reality anymore. The first person to bring him and Zi Se food was Tovah, and she might have been the only person in this camp who could have survived the following wildness. Zuko had lunged at her, and she’d just hopped to the side in time for him to grab the food, not her throat. 

But a couple of days ago, Zi Se started retrieving the food instead. Zuko didn’t like him wandering about the camp alone, but Zi Se made friends with a few of the White Lotus members, and Zuko was always more relaxed when Zi Se was the one handing him his food. Zuko was only relaxed when Zi Se was the one handing him his food. 

“They gave us dessert too today.” Zi Se grinned, quickly sitting cross-legged before Zuko and arranging the bowls of rice and plates of fruit and-. 

Zuko's heart twisted at how familiar this felt. 

For the first time in a long time, Zuko thought of Tomkin and Nanook. They'd always been there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, but this morning amongst the wreckage of the Erlong, Zuko had made his choice. This seemed to be a side-effect of that choice, because when those shadows encroached as they often did, there was suddenly nothing to push them down, push them _away_ , and there they were. Tomkin's dimpled laugh, Nanook’s worried stare, the infirmary’s cosy glow. 

Fong took them from him. Zuko didn’t even know where they were, if they were okay. He wondered if they ever thought of him, before shaking his head, focussing on not dropping his chopsticks as Zi Se launched into a story about his aunt. Of course they didn’t think of him. Zuko was with the Water Tribe for a month. He'd been gone for four. Whatever happened back then was in the past, was _gone_. Zi Se was here. Zi Se and Fong. Zi Se and Fong. No one else. 

Zuko listened idly as Zi Se spoke. The kid was getting used to calling him Zuko instead of Lee, but sometimes, he still slipped up, and would giggle like they were sharing an inside joke. Zi Se spoke of his aunt. He always did. She seemed to have raised him and Lanse, what with his mother’s death and father’s coldness. War Minister Qin wasn’t like Ozai; he was a whole different kind of loveless. Ozai showed his contempt of his son through blazing fists, while Qin showed his through absence. Zi Se barely knew his father. It was probably better that way. Even the thought of someone coming to take Zi Se away, family or not, made Zuko feel sick to his stomach. That was a problem for the future. For now, he had far bigger and bloodier problems to contend with. 

The food disappeared quickly. It always did. Zi Se would hold a conversation for a while, and Zuko would try to humour it, but ultimately, the sight of food, the fear of not having it if they didn’t eat it quick, overcame them both. They fell into a natural silence. They must have passed days like this back in that cell; sat side by side, thinking, quiet, Zuko meditating, Zi Se chewing his necklace-. 

_You ever wondered why?_ The memory of the healer’s voice swam to the surface of Zuko’s thoughts, and he found himself watching Zi Se. The kid was oblivious, too busy fiddling with his necklace. _Uses the necklace for pain_. That had been the healer’s assumption. He looked Zuko in the eye, Zuko who lost everything to keep Zi Se’s life painless, and had the audacity to assume Zi Se was in pain and Zuko didn’t know about it. As if Zuko wasn’t fit to be taking care of him. As if Zuko was doing a bad job. 

“Stop chewing that.” Zuko said like he often did, except it had more bite to it than usual. 

Zi Se frowned, pouting a little as he let his necklace fall. “Sorry.” 

“Why do you do that anyway?” Zuko didn’t like how he was getting, how he was demanding answers, how he was angry before he even had reason to be, but he couldn’t help it. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Zi Se said, suddenly sheepish, wringing his hands. 

Zuko took a deep breath, before gently holding the kid’s ankle. “It matters to me.” 

Zi Se met his gaze, amber eyes staring into gold, troubled and reluctant, and he sighed. “I think I got a hurt tooth.” 

Concern flooded Zuko. Poor diet. Bad sanitary conditions. _Tooth decay_. Concern flooded him, and then horror. 

It was just a bad tooth. Baby teeth coming out was a part of growing up, and having the process sped up by the appalling conditions they’d lived in wasn’t exactly the worst thing to come from Fong. 

But it was the fact Zuko hadn’t _known_. Zuko had sacrificed so much, he’d told himself it was all worth it because Zi Se was okay, but Zi Se wasn’t okay. He was in pain. He was in pain and he hadn’t said anything and the healer had noticed straight away what Zuko couldn’t have hoped to notice even with four more months. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zuko whispered, and Zi Se looked horrified by the tightness to Zuko’s words, the wideness of his eyes. It was just a bad tooth. It'd fall out soon and Zi Se would be fine. It wasn’t debilitating. But _Zuko hadn’t known_. He'd allowed Zi Se to be in pain and he’d been oblivious. It was so much more than a fucking bad tooth and he didn’t really understand it himself but he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Because it doesn’t hurt that bad!” Zi Se insisted, reaching and grabbing Zuko’s arm. The _kid_ was comforting _him_ , because Zuko was falling apart. It was all so messed up. 

The worst part was that Zuko had honestly thought he could take care of Zi Se, but it all seemed so clear now. Zuko had to go to the Boiling Rock. Zi Se couldn’t come with him. The White Lotus members weren’t out to get him. Zuko was seventeen and he was as much of a wreckage as the Erlong, and Zi Se was a child who needed the kind of attention Zuko didn’t know how to give. He needed games Zuko couldn’t play, stories Zuko didn’t know, love Zuko never had. Zuko had never been equipped to care for a child. He'd been stupid to think he was. 

He couldn’t just give Zi Se up, but it suddenly seemed that maybe leaving him here would not only be convenient for Zuko, but better for Zi Se. Zuko would go, he would kill Fong, and he would put this nightmare behind him. Zi Se deserved Zuko when he wasn’t haunted, and right now, Zuko’s ghosts felt like they were dragging him underwater every time he saw fire, or food, or anyone and anything. 

“L- Zuko?” Zi Se asked, starting to get upset, but Zuko was already on his feet. 

“You stay here,” Zuko breathed, because if he stayed in this tent where he couldn’t see the sky for another second then he’d scream, “I'll... I’ll be back.” 

For a moment, he took a deep breath, before rushing outside. 

He immediately bumped into Tovah. 

“Shit, sorry.” Zuko said instinctively, not making eye-contact. His heart was roaring in his ears and he just needed to... needed to... 

Needed to what? 

“I was looking for you, actually.” Tovah said in that chilly, almost scary matter-of-fact tone. Zuko finally looked up, and noticed she was holding something. 

_Oh Agni_ , Zuko thought, feeling like his stomach had fallen to the grass at his feet. 

Tovah must have noticed his expression, because she quirked a knowing brow. “I found this amongst the rest of your things and thought you might need it.” 

“Why would I need that?” Zuko growled, and while he wasn’t as bad a liar as he used to be, even he heard his words tremble. 

Tovah handed him the Blue Spirit mask. “No reason.” She smiled like a snarl. “But better safe than sorry, yes?” 

Zuko stared at the mask. The deep blue, the white detailing, the memories. He remembered watching Love Amongst The Dragons with his family, all four of them. He remembered fighting side by side with an enemy and feeling like he belonged there. He remembered a market selling masks just like this. 

Better safe than sorry. 

Shakily, Zuko grabbed the mask, attaching it to his belt with enough fluidity to hint at practise. Tovah narrowed her eyes. Zuko knew her well enough by now to know she noticed; she noticed everything. She was the smartest person in this whole damn camp. 

Zuko stood straighter. 

She was the smartest person in this whole damn camp, and she wasn’t the kind to lie to him to make him feel better. She analysed people. It was her weapon. She probably knew every dirty secret of every poor man here. 

“The healer.” Zuko said, almost breathless. 

“The healer.” Tovah repeated, unamused. 

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Is he... What’s he like?” 

Tovah hesitated, cocking her head slightly, trying to figure out the basis for Zuko’s question. She didn’t like it when she didn’t know what was going on. 

“He’s boring.” She said simply. “His daughter was nineteen and died in the Siege of the North. He then defected here. He is a close friend of your uncle’s. He views you and Iroh as the Fire Nation’s last hope. He hasn’t lost faith in his nation just yet. He likes crab puffs.” 

She listed these things as if they all had equal weight, monotonous and robotic. Zuko listened intently, searching for any sign of a lie. He'd known the healer was Fire Nation, he’d seen it in the man’s copper eyes. 

“You trust him?” Zuko asked, and it felt like pushing a knife in his own back. 

“I don’t trust anyone.” Tovah said. 

“Should _I_ trust him?” Zuko rephrased, looking down to the Blue Spirit mask on his hip. A role. A farce. He could manage that much. 

Tovah hesitated, following his gaze to the mask. “He’s caring of children, since losing his daughter. He arrived here three days late on a war balloon and told us it was because he stopped to help some Earth Kingdom orphans he came across.” Tovah spoke quietly, like she was sharing a secret. She then grit her teeth as if the words hurt to admit. “His heart is good.” 

She never once answered Zuko’s question, never once told him who to trust, and Zuko respected that. He knew this woman could spin lies as fast as Azula, but here she was telling the truth. He knew that much. He couldn’t trust anyone, but he could trust characteristics. 

Tovah knew Zuko was asking because of Zi Se. He still didn’t quite understand how she figured these things out, but she must have known. _He's caring of children. His heart is good._

And deep down, Zuko had known that anyway. Zuko had treated the healer horribly; he still didn’t even know the man’s name, and he’d broken his _arm_. Yet the healer came back, continued to worry about him and Zi Se, and he always tried to chat to Zuko whenever he saw him. Zuko knew Zi Se liked the healer too, because he played games with him. Games Zuko couldn't play. 

Zuko's heart shuddered, pre-earthquake, but he wouldn’t let himself be upset over this. Zi Se deserved better than Zuko, and Zuko could only provide that when he was able to promise the most basic of things; safety. And safety came with Fong’s death. 

Better safe than sorry. 

Zuko had made up his mind. 

“Did you say he got here on a war balloon?” He asked, and Tovah smiled a cunning smile. 

____ 

“And you didn’t think, not once, that encouraging his dad’s bullshit quest after the Avatar might be more damaging?” Kanut asked, trying not to roll his eyes. At this rate, they would get stuck fixed on the cell’s ceiling. 

“I did not _encourage_ it.” Iroh huffed, because he apparently wasn’t a fan of Kanut’s latest conversation topic; comparing unclehood. “I thought like everyone else that finding the Avatar would be impossible. I took it as an opportunity to get Zuko away from my brother for as long as possible. I should have known-.” 

“Should’ve known that if any idiot was gonna be stubborn enough to find the Avatar after so long, it would be him?” Kanut supplied helpfully. 

Iroh sighed. "Well, I wasn’t going to word it like that, but yes. Zuko has always been...” 

“Stubborn?” 

Iroh pulled a face. It was his usual I-want-to-laugh-but-I-still-don't-completely-trust-you-and-won't-insult-my-nephew-until-I-do face. Kanut had to respect it. 

“Arrogant?” Kanut again added, just to infuriate the old man even more. Iroh scoffed. 

Kanut had been in the cell for a week now, perhaps even longer. He didn’t complain though. It wasn’t too bad – boring, more than anything – and besides, Iroh had been here at least a month. It was quickly apparent that the prisoners here were the ones the Fire Nation didn’t know what to do with. They weren’t interrogated, and their lives weren’t made purposely uncomfortable; they were simply locked up and forgotten. Call Kanut fussy, but he thought that still wasn’t a great position to be in. 

Which was why he’d been plotting with the Dragon of the West. 

Iroh had a friend, some Colonel he played pai sho with, that was somehow capable of breaking them out of prison. He was waiting patiently for her after writing to her only days before being captured. He'd heard nothing back, and there was no sign of a rescue on the horizon, yet Iroh trusted her implicitly. Kanut, however, did not, and after much bickering, him and Iroh had come to a compromise that they would escape on their own if the lady didn’t save them by the new moon. Which was tomorrow night. 

The plan was flimsy. The kind guard who always gave Iroh nice tea would arrive with a meal, Iroh would convince her to enter the cell using his usual charm, and when she was distracted, Kanut would grab the keys. After that, they’d run and hope Kanut’s size and Iroh’s firebending could overpower the surprised guards. Iroh knew Caldera City like the back of his hand; he promised he could lose any guards that followed them, so long as Kanut could ensure they got out of the prison tower. 

It had taken Kanut so long to convince Iroh to give up the idea of this Colonel that failure was not an option. He'd never hear the end of it from the smug old man. 

“Arrogant, no.” Iroh said after a few seconds of quiet, and there was a troubled shadow to his words. Kanut didn’t like that. He hadn’t realised how cathartic it would feel to joke about Zuko with someone who knew him as well as he did, someone who lost him like he did. It was the only way Kanut knew how to deal with his emotions. But when Iroh got serious like this, he knew things were about to get melancholic again. Sometimes, if Kanut told enough jokes, he could convince himself that Zuko was out there, waiting for Kanut to escape with the rest of the Water Tribe, and that this was only a nightmare on Kanut’s end. But the silence was cruel and it didn’t let him forget. Even if Iroh and Kanut’s plan worked and they got out, Zuko would still be gone. 

“No one was ever crueller to Zuko than he was to himself, not even Ozai.” Iroh said, and Kanut’s breath caught in his throat. He remembered all the little things; every time Zuko insisted he wasn’t good at something when he was, how convinced he was that he was never firebending properly, every time he told Kanut something ‘wasn’t a big deal.’ Zuko’s father had taken a hand to his own child and disfigured him, but the true agony came from the thoughts he branded into Zuko’s mind that day. Kanut knew that better than anybody. 

“He’s a real piece of work, you know.” Kanut said softly, tracing the scars on his hands. They'd long since healed, but some days, he still remembered their sting. They'd spattered with blood when he punched Fong, and it had crusted over his knuckles. 

A solemn silence stretched between them, before Iroh said, voice a weak, choked whisper; “I know.” 

____ 

The healer was a short man with glasses he had to push up his nose and copper eyes that seemed a little whimsical, creases around them that deepened when he smiled. He smiled a lot. It was unsettling. 

“Prince Zuko!” He beamed, jumping up in surprise when Zuko entered the man’s tent that was also an infirmary. It was the biggest infirmary Zuko had seen in a long time, but he knew it was small by general standards. Two lines of four beds and a small work area at the far end of the long tent, where the healer had been pouring over a book before Zuko interrupted. 

“Can I help you with anything? Are you feeling alright?” The healer fussed, smile quickly fading into a frown with each stride Zuko took towards him. Zuko stopped just before a long table, several books open on its surface, the healer stood on the other side. Zuko was taller than him, ever so slightly. 

“I’m going out tonight. I don’t know when I'll be back.” Zuko said, and he used his royal voice. The one he used to practise in mirrors back at the palace, repeating lines over and over until he stopped stuttering over the big words. It never helped, in the end. His father’s gaze always brought the nerves back. But it made him feel better to at least try. 

“To do what, if you don’t mind me asking?” The healer said tentatively, and Zuko narrowed his eyes. 

“That’s none of your concern.” He said, shutting down the topic. “I need you to take care of Zi Se while I'm gone.” 

Internally, Zuko cringed at the demand. He knew the healer was a good man, and he was stood there with his arm in a sling all because he tried to help Zuko, and still, Zuko had the nerve to look him in the eye, Prince persona shining through because he knew this man still had loyalties, and _demand things_. 

Zuko was acting like his father, and that realisation didn’t fill him with the joy he thought it might. 

“Oh,” the healer visibly relaxed, as if he’d expected to be asked something terrible, “of course I will.” 

_Of course_. Because to some people, safety was a guarantee, compassion didn’t cost anything, ignorance was bliss. To some people, life was more than blood. 

Not to Zuko. 

It never had been, really. 

“If anything, _anything_ , happens to him while I'm gone,” Zuko snarled, taking a step closer to the table and enjoying the healer’s flinch, “then a broken arm will be the least of your worries.” 

The healer swallowed, before nodding hurriedly in understanding. 

The threat was gratuitous, Zuko knew that, but he felt guilt sliding down the back of his neck. He _had_ to leave Zi Se, but every time he thought about leaving here without the kid at his side, he felt chilled to the bone. It just felt _wrong_. They'd spent every day together for four months. They'd kept each other alive and, more importantly, they’d kept each other sane. 

And now Zuko was severing that. Willingly. 

But he was doing it for Zi Se. 

The healer had rounded the table by the time Zuko returned to the tent, and Zuko couldn’t help the bittersweet twist of his heart when Zi Se, who he’d left to go get, grinned at the man. It was nice to at least hope that Zuko was right, that he was leaving Zi Se in good hands. 

“Akinari.” Zi Se said softly in greeting, smiling a little. For any other five-year-old, that was the equivalent of yelling in excitement. Zi Se liked the healer, and even as he shyly held Zuko’s hand, ducking behind his leg a little, Zuko could feel the happiness radiating from him. _Akinari_. Zuko hadn’t even know the man’s fucking name and now he was leaving Zi Se – his _world_ – in the healer’s hands. 

“Hello, Zi Se.” Akinari said, and those creases around his eyes deepened as he waved at Zi Se. It was enough to make Zi Se brave a step forward. 

“Are we gonna play catch?” Zi Se asked, looking hopefully up at Zuko, who always refused to play because he had bigger things to worry about than throwing a ball or a bad tooth or tiny things that added to bigger things, tiny things Akinari had allowed time for since the beginning. 

Zuko worked his jaw, before kneeling to level himself with Zi Se. The kid’s smile immediately fell at the ashen look on Zuko’s face. 

“Zi Se,” Zuko said, voice steady while everything inside him fell apart, “I need to leave for a bit.” 

Zi Se frowned. “Where are we going?” 

“No.” Zuko sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s- I’m going alone. It's too dangerous for you-.” 

“What? No!” Zi Se shouted, and Zuko blinked in surprise. He'd never heard the kid yell before, but as he looked at Zi Se now, he saw he was _angry_. 

“Zi Se-” Zuko tried again, but Zi Se pushed him, small hands barely swaying Zuko. 

“No! We have- We gotta stay _together_.” Zi Se insisted, eyes watery. He looked like he was about to stomp his foot. 

“And we will be together, but I have to do this, kid.” Zuko urged, holding Zi Se’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. Now he really looked like Azula, throwing tantrums of rage when something didn’t go her way. Zuko used to hold her against him, arms pinned at her sides, and she’d exhaust herself. 

Zi Se pushed him off like Azula always did. 

“No!” He yelled again, red-faced with anger. “You’re not going!” 

“Maybe-.” 

“Stay out of it.” Zuko snarled, glaring at Akinari who immediately shrunk back against the table. 

“Zi Se, listen to me,” Zuko said, grabbing him again and holding tighter, keeping his voice stern even as messy tears dribbled down Zi Se’s face, “you’re almost six now. That means you’re one of the big kids. I know you can do this. You're gonna be with Akinari, and you’re gonna be so grown up for me, yeah? I need you to be brave for me, Zi Se.” Zuko swallowed the tightness of his throat. “Just like a warrior.” 

Zi Se’s lip finally stopped wobbling, amber eyes sparkling at the word _warrior_. He was obsessed with the thought of it; what boy wasn’t at that age? Zuko had been. He’d wanted to be a fighter, an epic swordsman, a master firebender. It was just that being a warrior had so many other connotations now. Bravery as well as honour, compassion as well as strength, community as well as independence. 

Zi Se pouted for a few more seconds, but he was finally deflating. He looked to his feet, hands finding his necklace. When he spoke, his voice was the near-silent whisper that only Zuko knew to listen for. 

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” He breathed. “You won’t go to the farm like Lanse, no matter how nice it is?” 

Zuko felt like he’d been stabbed in the gut, and he held the side of Zi Se’s head, bringing him close so their foreheads touched. 

“I promise,” Zuko said, “I will always come back.” 

“You have to.” Zi Se said, more resolutely than before, and then his hands were moving and Zuko felt something fall around his neck. “You have to, so you can give me this back.” 

Zuko pulled back, and there, hanging daintily against his black clothes, was Zi Se’s necklace. 

____ 

Given the circumstances, Sokka’s day was actually going rather well. 

That wasn’t to say he was having a good day. In fact, he’d probably go as far as saying he was having a bad day, but in the grand scheme of things, it could be going much, much worse. 

The good thing was that his plan had somehow almost worked. According to his map, the market he’d stopped at before was only a few miles away from the Boiling Rock, and Appa had dropped him off faultlessly, throwing him one last, uncertain look before giving into Sokka’s shooing and flying away again. Watching Sokka’s only means of escape fly away from him had felt like he was damning himself, but he had to do this. 

After that, all he had to do was rent an eel hound to cover the few miles of land, and then it was just a short stretch of water between him and the prison that he could easily cover in a simple rowboat. 

Except that short stretch of water wound up being far bigger than the map had insinuated, and that left Sokka stood on a beach with a little boat he’d rented that was barely big enough to fit him in. He couldn’t even see the prison from here, only a few clouds of steam in the far distance. The _very_ far distance. 

“Hey universe,” Sokka began, pushing the boat into the water, “it’s me again. You know, Sokka? I’m guessing you remember me, because you seem to enjoy _ruining my life_ so much.” He hopped into the boat, grabbing the oars with a resigned sigh. “Just wanted you to know that I hate you and I'm gonna get Aang to do his spiritual mumbo-jumbo on you.” The boat took to the water and Sokka was jerked forward in a wave, almost capsizing. _Fuck you, the universe._

Katara would call this being melodramatic, but _Katara_ wasn’t the one who now had to row all the way to a maximum-security _Fire Nation_ prison. 

Sokka groaned dramatically one last time for emphasis, before beginning to row. 

____ 

Zuko left with the sunset, watching from the shadows as Zi Se played catch with Akinari by the river. He didn’t say goodbye; he was just going to slip away. It was easier like this, for both of them. With the orange tendrils of Agni soaking the camp, Zuko ducked out of one of the bamboo gates, facing the forest he’d ridden through with Tovah. He had little memory of the journey. He'd been such a shell at the time. It had only been a week, but he’d recovered a lot. Physically, at least. He was putting weight back on steadily, and was trying to train daily to build back his muscles and his bending. His injuries were faring as well as they could with his minimal treatment, and he’d been able to wash and have new clothes and attempt to sleep this past week. He felt better than he had in months. Physically. 

The moment he left this camp behind, he left whatever stability it had brought. He'd never felt safe there - he didn’t think he’d ever feel safe anywhere again – but he’d felt an odd sense of security. He had been allowed to just live with Zi Se in a soft bubble, just the two of them taking care of one another. That was gone now. Zuko was putting an end to it. 

The moment he left this camp behind, there was no turning back on his decision to kill General Fong. 

Zuko's mind was plagued with his own screams, and he felt that familiar stirring in his chest at the memory. He took a deep breath, and began to walk. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Colonel Tovah asked, and Zuko whirled to see her leaning against the fence, arms crossed over her green Earth Kingdom uniform, black hair tied back in its spotless ponytail. Zuko hadn’t even noticed her, and it made his heart thump in his ears. 

There was no point lying to her. She'd be able to tell, and besides, he was pretty sure she already knew what he was up to. 

“Breaking into a prison, what are _you_ doing?” Zuko said accusingly. 

Tovah cocked an eyebrow. “Breaking into a prison.” 

Zuko frowned. Tovah had said from the beginning that her plan was to break Uncle Iroh out of Capital City Prison, and Zuko knew she’d spent this past week planning and preparing for it. He also knew he was the reason her plans were slightly delayed, and the thought of Uncle in some cell longer than he had to be because of Zuko made his insides twist uncomfortably. Uncle wasn’t his priority, but Zuko remembered the conditions he’d been kept in with Fong. He wouldn’t wish that on anybody. 

Zuko wasn’t surprised that Tovah was finally off to get Iroh. He was surprised, however, that she had no back up. 

“On you own?” Zuko asked dubiously. “You’re going to break into a prison at the heart of the Fire Nation on your own?” 

He wasn’t worried about her; he was just genuinely curious. That curiosity turned to discomfort when Tovah smirked smugly. 

“What, like it’s hard?” She said, before standing straight and striding past Zuko. “Come on, Your Highness. The war balloon is this way. I'm giving you a lift.” 

Zuko was dumbfounded, but he wasn’t about to argue with Tovah. He stood for a few more awestruck seconds, before jogging after her. 

The war balloon didn't need firebending to work, but it helped. Nothing complicated; just a few gusts of fire every few minutes to keep the craft in the air. Zuko had to admit as they sailed over the Earth Kingdom and into the Fire Nation, the familiar red insignia above them warding off any trouble, that whoever invented this must have been a genius. He'd never seen one before, which meant it was a recent invention for the war effort, but the war balloon soared faultlessly and it made quicker time than even a Fire Navy ship. 

Him and Tovah sat in silence, talking only to agree that Zuko would jump out at the Boiling Rock and Tovah would take the war balloon to Caldera City. That left Zuko to his thoughts, and they were sharp, brutal things, leaving gashes on his mind that spilled into every cavity. He was going to kill Fong. He was going to kill a man. The two seemed like separate things, because Fong wasn’t a man. He was a monster. He was cruelty and hatred and everything this war, _Father’s_ war, had germinated. Zuko thought he’d feel some reluctance. Zuko thought he’d feel like he had with Lee. But Fong and Lee were very different people. Lee was good, was innocent, and didn’t deserve death. Fong was rotten to the core, and he infected everything he touched. Every _one_ he touched. Zuko would be the last of that man’s corruptions. He'd cleanse this world of him. And then maybe, Zuko would try and start again. Maybe he would put all this behind him. Maybe he would heal. 

But he doubted it. 

“What’s your plan?” Tovah asked, green eyes trained on him from the other side of the war balloon. 

Zuko frowned. “Plan?” 

“ _Spirits_ , give me strength.” Tovah cursed, rolling her eyes like Zuko had said something stupid. 

After a couple of hours, Zuko saw the cloud of steam that embraced the Boiling Rock. He'd been here once before. Mai's uncle was the warden, and he’d given them a tour. Zuko had hated almost every minute of it. 

“I’ll jump out on the other side of the lake.” Zuko said, flinching when the fire fuelling the balloon sputtered beside him. It was orange, no matter how many gusts of blue Zuko shot at it, and every time he had to stand close to it, he felt ice in his bones. He had to get over this fear. He had to get over it _quick_. He knew the fire wasn’t the problem, but whenever he looked into the open flames too long, he saw their orange tongues licking the walls of the cell, heralding ruination. 

“No,” Tovah said, “the steam will bring us down. You have to get out on this side.” 

“How am I supposed to cross the lake? It's _boiling_.” Zuko demanded, but they were getting closer now and didn’t have much time to figure it out. 

“This is why we make plans, yes?” Tovah said, before taking over the war balloon’s controls and turning them off course. Zuko had no choice but to send her one last glare and an obscene gesture before jumping over the side. 

It was a painful landing. The Boiling Rock was inescapable for many reasons, but one was its location being in the middle of a volcano. Zuko tried to roll out the landing, but the crags and rocks of the volcano still stabbed at him as he desperately found his grip. When he finally stopped moving, he lay still, winded. _Fuck you, Tovah,_ he thought weakly, wincing as he sat up. He still had his scabbard and mask. That was all he’d brought. That, and Zi Se’s necklace. Zuko's heart skipped a beat as he desperately grasped towards his neck, but he sighed when he felt the necklace still there, safe despite the fall. 

Zuko spent the rocky climb over the lip of the volcano trying desperately to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to cross a boiling lake without dying. He'd just secured his Blue Spirit mask, almost choking on the familiarity of its weight, when he spotted a rowboat caught on the current, pushing against the rocks. 

This was too easy. 

This was far, far too easy. 

But Zuko couldn’t let the opportunity slip by, and quickly skidded down the cliff, grabbing the boat before the current took it out again. The wood was cheap, non-prison issued. Someone else was here. Zuko would have to keep his wits about him. 

Despite its simple nature, the boat was perfect for getting across the lake. It was small enough to be completely hidden beneath the steam, and it only took Zuko a few minutes to row to the opposite beach. He hesitated before letting the boat back into the current. He couldn't leave any trace of himself behind. 

Before him, the prison was a foreboding spectacle, all metal walls and misery. It was so unreservedly different to Fong’s base, but a prison was a prison, and the thought of walking back into one was almost enough for Zuko to be sick. 

Fong and Zi Se. 

Shaking hands turned steady as he traced his sword, his mask, before finally clutching onto Zi Se’s necklace. 

This was the option Zuko chose. 

There was no going back now. 

There was no coming back from this. 

____ 

Sokka had managed to get into the Boiling Rock without a hitch, stealing a guard's uniform from a changing room. It had seemed too easy, yet every guard he crossed met him with nothing but a curt nod. Sokka should have felt relieved, or even excited in some twisted sense, but all he felt was a growing dread. He'd been here for a while now, searching the corridors, squinting through each cell’s bars, and his dad was nowhere in sight. 

This was bad. This was very, very monumentally bad. And for once, Sokka wasn’t being melodramatic. Had dad been taken somewhere else? Was he ever here? Was... 

Was Sokka too late? 

He'd been as quick as he could trying to figure out which prison Hakoda would be in, and it wasn’t like he had someone on hand he could just _ask_ about these things. He'd done this alone, and only now did he truly feel how alone he was. 

Sokka was jolted from his thoughts by the sound of someone grunting in pain, followed by a loud thunk. He was on a narrow corridor, and if he had his bearings right, it led to the yard where the prisoners hung out. It was barren of other doors, and more importantly, it was barren of other guards, hence Sokka choosing here to have his minor breakdown. But there was another corridor on the left that joined onto this one, a few metres away, and that’s where the noise had come from. 

Swallowing his nerves and pointedly ignoring how ominous this felt, Sokka tiptoed forward, poking his head around the corner. 

He was met with the sight of a guard knocked out on the floor, a shadow of black darting through the door at the end of the corridor. 

Horror filled him as he realised he wasn’t quite as alone as he thought, and then determination. 

“Hey!” He called, jogging after the shadow. If this was some Spirit, he’d be pissed. The Hei-Bai incident had set him for life and he was rather fond of staying in _this_ realm, no matter how fucked up it had become recently. 

The prison was a labyrinth of thin metal corridors. Each door led to a new corridor. Each _corridor_ led to a new corridor. If this wasn’t the enemy nation and if Sokka wasn’t currently partaking in active treason against said nation, then he might consider sending some interior design pointers to the warden. 

As it was, he was rather busy. The shadow had picked up the pace, realising it was being followed, but Sokka was yet to lose it, and every second he wasted trying to track it down made him more and more adamant on finding out who this was and what they were doing in the Boiling Rock. 

They ran to a crossroads, and the shadow took a turn that led to a dead end. It cursed, its voice raspy and male and sending shivers down Sokka’s spine at the echo of familiarity in it, but he shrugged it off, eyes widening as he finally got a good look at his fellow renegade. 

The blood drained from his face when he was met with the mask of the famous Blue Spirit. 

____ 

There was a guard because of course there was. Luck had never favoured Zuko. It felt like as soon as he snuck inside the prison, every guard on duty decided to walk in the exact corridors he wound up in. Usually, he could quickly lower the flames of the torches and hide himself in the shadows, but every now and then, a guard would notice and find themselves unconscious in a trail of thoughtless violence in Zuko’s wake. Zuko was desperately trying to remember the warden’s tour, what he’d said about foreign prisoners of war, where they were kept, when he heard footsteps behind him. Loud, alone, _gaining on him_. 

Zuko had broken into a run. 

So did the person following him. 

And Zuko ran into a dead end because Zuko was stupid, and he whirled around, fingers curling around the handle of his broadsword as he faced the guard. 

He was... not what Zuko had expected, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. The guard was a reasonable height, just an inch or two taller than Zuko, and had broad shoulders, sturdier than most Fire Nationer’s and promising muscle beneath the armour. The armour that didn’t quite fit him properly. Zuko's vision was blocked by his mask and his already disadvantaged left eye, but if he squinted, he could see the helmet was too big as well. And the guard’s skin was dark, which made it all the more jarring when his eyes were a brilliant blue. 

It stunned Zuko for a few seconds. Seconds he didn’t have. He stood there staring dumbly at this guard, desperately trying not to let the current of his memories drag him down as he remembered Water Tribe eyes. He needed to run, or fight. He'd been caught. And instead, he felt like he was frozen in place, magnetised. 

“You’re the Blue Spirit.” The guard whispered in disbelief. 

Zuko drew his sword. 

“Easy!” The guard squeaked, jumping back suddenly. That _voice_. It was like a ripple in his mind, small, the slightest push. He knew that voice. “I’m on your side.” The guard spoke again, steadier this time, hands held up placatingly. 

Still, Zuko took a threatening step forward, feeling a satisfied pull to his lips when the guard stepped back in response. A few more steps, and Zuko could knock past him and run. 

But then the guard took his helmet off, and Zuko’s breath hitched. 

For a second, he was staring at Tomkin. The guard was a teenager, looking out of place with his Fire Nation get-up and messy brown hair styled in that Water Tribe ponytail, a few strands pulled loose from the helmet and curving against the boy’s sharp jaw. The kind of handsome that came so easily, the kind that Zuko would almost catch himself staring at in a different world. And two blue eyes, bottomless oceans and tsunamis and rain and tears and _water_. So unreservedly, unapologetically Water Tribe. 

Zuko inhaled and exhaled slowly, putting a stop to the dangerous direction his thoughts were heading. This wasn’t Tomkin. It wasn’t any of them. 

Zuko needed to get away from here. Whatever this boy was doing, he wanted no part in it. He needed no part in it. Zuko stepped forward, more aggressively this time, and he almost jumped out of his skin when, instead of ducking out of his way, the boy grabbed his forearm in a firm hold. 

“We could help each other.” The boy said, and Zuko couldn’t shake the familiarity of his stupid voice. “I know you have experience breaking people out of places. You did it for my friend Aang. You know, the _Avatar?_ ” 

Zuko almost groaned. He _knew_ that had been a mistake. He went to tug his arm out of the Water Tribe boy’s grip, eyes widening when the boy didn’t even budge. He was hardly even trying, stood right in Zuko’s space with those wide, begging blue eyes. But that didn’t matter, because the feeling of being trapped had settled in the pit of Zuko’s stomach. He had to... He had to get this boy off him. He had to get away. The corridor was suddenly shrinking around them and the fire sputtered with Zuko’s racing heart and it looked and felt so, so familiar and-. 

Both of their heads snapped up at the same time, looking to the crossroads where the sudden sound of footsteps was gradually getting louder. Two pairs. Two guards. The Water Tribe boy’s eyes narrowed in determination, hand finally falling slack. He missed Zuko’s choked sigh of relief. He missed Zuko’s fingers tentatively rubbing the spot the boy had held. 

“ _Dude_.” The boy hissed when Zuko walked towards the noise, and he was about to grab Zuko again. Zuko smacked his hand away, acting on reflex alone. He hadn’t anticipated the boy’s reflexes to be as fast as his, and the next thing he knew, they were pushing at each other. Zuko’s foot accidentally moved in front of the Water Tribe boy’s and then the boy was tripping over it and about to fall right into the corridor where the guards were coming from. 

It wasn’t because he was Water Tribe. It wasn’t because he looked like Tomkin. Zuko acted out of instinct and nothing else when he grabbed the front of the boy’s armour and used his own bodyweight to twist and push them both against the wall, chest to chest, the torch guttered behind them and drenching them in enough shadows to just about conceal them from view. 

But not enough shadows to hide the fact that the skirmish had knocked off Zuko’s mask. 

It was of course at this moment that his mind helpfully figured out why this boy’s voice had sounded so familiar. 

Zuko was looking at Sokka. 

Sokka, the Avatar’s companion. 

Sokka, Hakoda’s son. 

Sokka, who Zuko had kicked in the head _at least_ twice. 

“Shit.” Zuko whispered. 

____ 

Upon finding out that the cool, mysterious vigilante that saved Aang’s life using some seriously impressive swordsmanship leading Sokka to develop a totally normal curiosity towards him that definitely wasn’t a ‘creepy crush’ - shut up, _Toph_ \- was actually Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who had hunted them from the South Pole to Kyoshi Island to Avatar Roku’s temple to that abbey, Sokka found himself, for once in his life, speechless. 

He was just... staring... at _Zuko_... Prince Zuko... the angry jerk himself. Zuko who hadn’t bothered them for months now, to the point Sokka hardly thought of the other boy these days. And seeing him here, now, like this, was jarring enough to knock the breath from Sokka’s lungs. 

Zuko looked so different. His already unfairly sharp bone structure now looked like it had been chiselled from stone, all angles and swooping cheekbones, and he was wearing all black, not the reds of the Fire Nation. And it suited him. The black with the golden eyes and the hair. 

The hair. 

That was another matter entirely. That ridiculous ponytail was gone, and in its place was the most inexplicably attractive head of messy black locks that Sokka had ever seen. He was struck with the sudden urge to card his fingers through it, before blinking the thought away, horrified. 

This was Prince Zuko. 

But he just looked so different. He'd lost that regal air of pompousness, and Sokka wasn’t quite sure what he’d replaced it with, but it was _something_. It was something in the new scars on his face, one particularly nasty one slicing his jaw in a jagged white cut, like lightning. It was something in the steadiness of his hands on Sokka’s chest, pushing him into the wall even as the guards walked obliviously past. It was something heavy and massive and _off_ , and it set Sokka’s nerves on edge. He remembered how it felt to be scared of this boy. 

Which was why, when he attempted to say something accusing and intelligent that demanded to know what Zuko was doing here as the Blue Spirit in the Fire Nation after months of being off the grid, all that came out of Sokka’s mouth was a jumbled mess of; “Zuko, Fire Nation.” 

Zuko cocked his head, lips ghosting an arrogant smirk. “Sokka, Water Tribe.” He said in that chilling rasp of a voice, before taking a step back. Sokka almost fell over without the other boy’s weight against him. He felt like a compass desperately spinning for a direction. He just didn’t understand... 

Sokka decided that a safe emotion to stick with was anger. 

“You- _You're_ the Blue Spirit?” He hissed, hatred dripping from his tongue. “What the fuck are you _doing_ here?” 

“ _Me?_ What are _you_ doing here?” Zuko growled impatiently, clearly just as bemused by this turn of events as Sokka. 

“Why would I tell you?” Sokka said, pushing Zuko by the shoulders to widen the gap between them. Zuko let himself be pushed, but all it did was make him take a single, infuriatingly elegant step back. “You’d probably use it against me. Or... or tell the Fire Lord. Or-.” 

“I think you are grossly overestimating your importance to me.” Zuko said in that mean, matter-of-fact way of his that Sokka hadn’t even realised he’d at one point in time been used to. Tui and La, this boy had been _relentless_. Every day, he’d be on the horizon, making their lives miserable. Aang was terrified of him. Katara had nightmares about him. And Sokka-… It was Sokka’s job to protect them, and Zuko was the threat. He had been, at least. Where had he been? Why did he look so different? _Why was he here?_

“Look,” Zuko said, running a hand through that infuriating hair, “I’m here for someone. I don’t want trouble. Just stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” 

Sokka glared for a few seconds, weighing it up and wondering if he could trust a Fire Nation Prince at his word, before sighing. He was slowly remembering fragments of mannerisms he’d picked up about the Fire Prince, the tactician inside him storing them away for future reference, and he knew if there was one thing the idiot cared about, it was honour. 

“Fine.” Sokka snarled. 

“Fine.” Zuko said back. 

Sokka growled in frustration. Zuko rolled his eyes, their golden hue the same colour as honey. They both went to walk in opposite directions, dramatically storming off, except the universe was still angry with Sokka for his outburst earlier in the day, and him and Zuko both wound up walking the same way, side by side. 

“ _I’m_ going this way, jerk.” Sokka hissed. 

Zuko was attaching the Blue Spirit mask to his belt. For a second, Sokka thought he’d actually be even more annoying by taking the mature road and pointing out how childish Sokka was being, but instead, Zuko glared at him. 

“I was going this way first.” He said, tone derisory. 

Sokka paused and Zuko hesitantly followed suit, the two of them facing off again. Sokka was just taller than him, and it filled him with immeasurable smugness. 

“Fine,” Sokka said, before holding his fist in his palm before him, “then we settle this like men.” 

He didn’t expect Zuko to understand what he was offering, but the Prince’s honey-gaze fell to Sokka’s hands, widening in recognition, before flicking back up with an expression commonly interpreted as ‘you have got to be fucking kidding me.’ 

“You can’t be serious.” Zuko said, eyeing the corridor as if to remind Sokka of the danger they were in. 

“It’s the only way.” 

“You-.” Zuko started, before sighing, looking to the ceiling as if he was praying for patience. Sokka almost smiled when Zuko gave in, mimicking the hand position Sokka was doing. Huh. He wasn’t as stuck up as he used to be. 

Sokka always played Elements with Tomkin, and sometimes Nanook when they could rope him in. It was a simple game. You used your hands to create shapes of the four elements. Each element defeated another element. It was used by kids to settle petty disputes, but it worked just as well between teenagers trying to partake in their respective criminal activity. 

Sokka counted down. He was about to reverse psychology Zuko _so_ bad. 

“Fire.” He said, fingers mimicking a flame. His victorious grin fell when he saw the shape Zuko’s hand had made. A fist. Earth. 

“Earth beats fire.” Sokka whispered, 

“For now.” Zuko said, lips curling up at the corners, before walking away again. “Goodbye, Sokka, Water Tribe.” 

And that was the end of it. Sokka hadn’t seen Zuko in, what, five months? Six? In that time, Zuko had tempered a little, and Sokka had grown a lot himself. Maybe it was the crushing fear of this prison and everything it could take from Sokka if he failed, but he just knew in that moment, as he watched Zuko walk with a grace, a smoothness, that Sokka would never have, that he didn’t want to let him leave. 

“You know, Zuko, Fire Nation,” Sokka called after him, tone light, “whoever you’re after, I can help you find them.” 

Zuko paused, turning his head slightly towards Sokka. He was listening. Sokka grinned, jogging to catch up. 

____ 

Sokka was many things. Loud, ridiculous, childish. But he was also smart. He'd tricked the pirates and he’d used the perfume to throw off the shirshu and he’d evaded Zuko time and time again. Zuko had often wondered who kept that ragtag team afloat. It wasn’t the naïve Avatar and it wasn’t the passionate waterbender. It was Sokka. 

If Fong was the end, then Sokka was offering to be the means. It was more of a plan than Zuko had five minutes ago. 

He decided to give him a chance. 

“Two heads are better than one.” Sokka said. “I’ll bet you know this place too. You could help me.” 

“And why would I do that?” Zuko said, turning to face Sokka again. Agni, those eyes were just so relentlessly _blue_. 

“Because if you don’t, I'll tell my fellow guard friends that the Blue Spirit has infiltrated the Boiling Rock.” 

That piece of _shit_. 

“You wouldn’t.” Zuko growled, taking a threatening step forward. Whatever banter, whatever comradery they had before was gone now, burnt to a crisp. The air was suddenly thick, smothering them both as they glared each other down. 

“Yeah,” Sokka said, grinning evilly, “I would.” 

It was silent for a few seconds as Zuko’s mind went through the motions, desperately searching for a way out. He worked alone. He had to do this alone. He couldn’t risk anyone changing his mind. He had a coward’s heart, flighty; he always had. He wouldn’t risk Fong for Sokka. But what choice did he have? He didn’t honestly think Sokka would tell the guards, but it wasn’t a chance he could take. Trust was such a fickle thing, and it couldn’t exist in a prison. Zuko knew that all too well. 

“Look,” Sokka said, and he was quieter now, voice almost... soft, “it’s my dad. The Fire Nation took him in the invasion, and it’s sort of my fault. I have to get him out-.” 

Sokka’s lips were moving. More words were being said. The world carried on around Zuko. But that was irrelevant. Zuko was suddenly freefalling, static screeching in his ears. _Hakoda_. Hakoda was here. The Chief. The shadow in Zuko’s head. The man who taught Zuko to hunt. The man who held Zuko together when he fell apart. The man who took him in as one of the crew. The man who tried so desperately to teach kindness to Zuko when neither of them had been shown enough of it. 

Zuko had spent so many nights asking the same question. _Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?_ The end saw him swallow such things, saw him push away any memory of Hakoda and the others, saw him smother himself in his own blanket of apathy, but he’d lifted it at the White Lotus camp, enough to allow this hatred to power him to do what needed to be done. And now, shadows were escaping the crevices, running into the open where Zuko couldn’t hide from them. Months of wondering where Hakoda was, and now, he had an answer. 

Hakoda was here too. 

That... that changed things. As much as Zuko needed that to change nothing, as much as Zuko needed to not fucking care about a man he’d known for a single month amongst four months of agony, it still changed things. Zuko couldn’t explain why just yet, and he couldn’t pinpoint the tangled knots of emotions clogging up his mind, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. 

“I’ll help you.” Zuko said, interrupting whatever rant Sokka’s nerves had got himself into. 

The Water Tribe boy blinked in surprise. “You will?” 

Zuko ignored the stupid question. “Where’s your dad?” 

Sokka’s brief victory burst quickly, face falling. Zuko was starting to notice that about Sokka; everything he felt, he expressed. It was like reading a book. It was... nice, in a way. 

“I’ve looked everywhere. I think they might not have brought him in yet. There were a lot of other prisoners taken from the invasion.” Sokka said, and Zuko nodded, thinking. 

“It’s likely he’s still being sent over.” Zuko agreed, hating how they were humouring each other. “There's a storage cupboard a floor up from here that locks from the inside. It’ll be safer for us to talk there, and it looks like we’re going to have to stay the night.” 

Sokka nodded in agreement. He blinked, and his solemn expression lifted into an easy smile. “Lead the way, Your Highness.” 

Zuko rolled his eyes, and the two set off as a team. 

____ 

Iroh and Kanut had just been having an impassioned discussion on the correct way to steep tea when their conversation was severed by the sound of footsteps up the stairs. Both of them sat up straigher. It wasn’t the heavy stomp of the guard that always tormented them from behind the bars. It was soft, patient. 

Ming. 

Blue eyes met gold, and Iroh nodded once. Tonight was the new moon. The pai sho lady hadn’t come. 

It was time for Kanut’s way of doing things. 

Getting the keys off Ming was far too easy, as the guard simply held up her hands, eyes wide in both shock and resignation. 

“I don’t get paid enough for this.” She said, and that was that. Kanut snatched the keys, darted out of the cell, and then he was free. He almost laughed, slightly hysterical at the prospect, but then three guards poured into the corridor, alerted by the noise. 

Kanut stood, before giving them an awkward wave. As soon as he did, a bolt of raging fire shot at them, and the guards dived for cover. Kanut stared at his hand, horrified for a moment, before Iroh appeared at his side. 

“Not bad for an old man.” Kanut said politely. 

Iroh sighed. “Yes, thank you, as ever, Kanut.” 

After that, it was as simple as Kanut staying safely behind Iroh. The General was like a one-man army, blazing through the prison, knocking out any guard that tried them. Kanut offered sarcastic quips to the few that didn’t, and then they were out in the fresh air. It was almost enough to make him dance around like Aput did when he’d drank too much, but unlike Aput, Kanut still had his dignity, and instead smiled up at the moon. 

It felt good to be out. 

“Hurry, we have to be quick.” Iroh whispered, and the two set off into the heart of the Fire Nation. It was like a maze, the buildings constructed in a style Kanut didn’t recognise. Iroh kept them to the backalleys, yanking Kanut into the shadows whenever someone walked past. 

They were careful. They were really, really careful. Which made it all the more terrifying when they didn’t see her coming. 

“Grand Master Iroh.” A silky voice sounded, and Kanut jumped so hard he whacked his head against the house they were hiding behind, spinning to see a woman watching them. She was tall, beautiful, with her black hair pulled back into a ponytail that brushed against her uniform. Her _Earth Kingdom_ uniform. 

“Tovah!” Iroh chuckled heartily, pulling the woman into a hug, genuinely delighted to see her. She robotically tapped his shoulder a few times, seeming nonplussed by the blatant show of affection, but Kanut didn’t miss the twitch of her lips. 

So, this was the Colonel he’d heard about. She'd actually done it. She was here, in the Fire Nation. 

Too bad she was late. 

“You don’t make my job any easier by taking matters into your own hands.” The woman, Tovah, said coldly. She was talking to Iroh but her green eyes were on Kanut, scanning every inch of him. 

“My new friend Kanut here was... impatient.” Iroh said genially, because it was better than saying the Dragon of the West had been bullied into escaping. 

Tovah hummed, unimpressed. “Well, I have a war balloon. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” 

“A _what_ balloon?” Kanut asked, but the woman ignored him. 

“I suppose we will be parting soon.” Iroh turned to Kanut, his gold eyes a little melancholic. Kanut had to admit the strange General had grown on him somewhat. They were rather similar at times, and Iroh knew things, knew Zuko. It was invaluable, given what had happened. 

“What will you do now?” Iroh asked, and Kanut shrugged. 

“Hakoda’s in the Boiling Rock. I'm gonna go after him, see if I can do anything to get him out. Worst case scenario is I wind up in another prison, but at least I'll be with one of my own.” Kanut said, before grinning. “No offence to you, of course. You were a lovely cellmate.” 

Iroh chuckled. "As were you.” 

“What about you? What will you do?” Kanut asked, and by the way Iroh’s smile faded, he knew what Kanut was truly asking. 

“I’ll continue searching for him.” He said quietly, hopelessly. 

“If you mean Zuko, then don’t bother.” Tovah said, and both men snapped their attention to her. 

“What?” Iroh asked, the closest thing to a demand Kanut had ever seen him give. 

Tovah stared him down, as if expecting retaliation. “I got him out of Fong’s base a week ago. He's been at the camp.” 

“Wait, so he’s safe?” Kanut choked out, breath hitching in his throat that suddenly felt like it was closing up. 

“Not in the classical sense of the word.” Tovah said. “He’s gone to the Boiling Rock. He's after Fong.” 

Kanut felt like he’d been pushed off a cliff. 

_Oh_. 

Zuko was after Fong. Zuko, the boy who drank herbal teas and meditated and talked in his sleep, was out for revenge. Kanut's emotions warred within him as they always had. Good, was his first thought, but then he understood the severity of that. Fong deserved to die for what he’d done to that poor kid, but Zuko didn’t deserve to be the one who had to kill him. 

Kanut's gaze met Iroh’s, and he nodded in understanding. 

“Tovah, show us to the war balloon.” Iroh said. “It looks like me and Kanut shall both be going to the Boiling Rock.” 

____ 

Zuko and Mai found this storage cupboard together when the warden gave them a tour of the Boiling Rock. They'd been young then, both disgusted by the misery inflicted here, and had managed to sneak off, giggling down the corridors, hand in hand. Zuko liked Mai best like that; at his side. They'd almost been caught and ducked behind the nearest door, leading them here. They were missing for hours, spending the time talking and talking and talking. Zuko told Mai about Mizu. He hadn’t told anyone else. At the time, Mizu was just the tea server’s son. 

He hadn’t appreciated how small he used to be, because he’d been able to spend those hours here with Mai comfortably, even walking around a few paces. Now, Zuko realised the storage cupboard was no more than a metre in any direction, leaving him and Sokka to both stare at it in silence after Zuko opened the door. 

“So,” Sokka said, clearly fighting a grin, “you wanna be big spoon or little spoon?” 

Zuko elbowed him in the ribs and walked inside. 

“Little spoon.” Sokka winced. “Noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get in bitches we're going to the boiling rock


	26. ii. Before The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would like to preface this by saying the canon plot of the boiling rock was taken out back and shot. Not even dental records can identify it at this point. No one’s allowed to say things like ’where is ___’ or ‘why didn’t ___ happen’. I am a simple bastard idiot and I literally threw away a lot of plot in favour of two morons arguing in a cupboard. Am I sorry? Nope. And I know you aren’t either, dumbass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up taob nation i hope everyone's having a wonderful day and oh what's this? new tags? that's right. i added a couple and i'm pointing them out here solely because a lot of people have been nervous about how angsty book 2 has been and i wanted to offer you some semblance of comfort, however this also means that i'm going to throw the 'it gets worse before it gets better tag' at any fucker who comes at me
> 
> this chapter is a bit of a filler chapter in preparation for the monster that will be ch27, so i told myself to keep this one short and guess what happened? go on guess. *subtly pushes 13k word count behind me*
> 
> okay but if i could turn your attention to the absolute weapon that is [sokkattome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sokkattome/pseuds/sokkattome) who has been hard at work and has two things for us. the first is the incredible  
> [Happiness Is Not A Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956951/chapters/68469401) which is a fucKING ZUKKA PIRATE AU I REPEAT A ZUKKA PIRATE AU IM SGIUHDGIUH and the second is [a literal fucking essay that they straight up submitted to a teacher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175172) i'm???? in love??? this is what it's all about folks.
> 
> anyways ily ur all very sexy and don't do anything i wouldn't do just do hot girl shit instead okay bye x

Zuko could culminate the key events in his life through his relationship to physical proximity. 

At five, his father first hit him. A quick slap across the face, a faint red mark on the left side like some cruel prophecy. He cried for hours but didn’t know yet to flinch from that moment onwards. 

At six, his best friend ruffled his hair and Zuko promptly told his mother he was in love with him. She told Zuko, hurriedly, that he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he wasn’t allowed friends after that. Father said they distracted him. 

At seven, he started training with his swords. They made his palms bleed, but it felt good. 

At eight, touch began to mutilate. Azula started growing cruel. Mother started growing distant. Zuko started tripping up more and more. 

By nine and ten, he knew to flinch. 

At eleven, Mother held him close one night, a gentle touch that smelt of roses, and then she was gone. That was the last soft thing Zuko would have for a very long time. 

At twelve, he kissed a boy and got caught. Briefly, he learned what burnt flesh smelt like. Not the small scrapes and burns he’d ever gotten from growing up in the palace, but something else. Something more. Something choking. It didn’t smell human; it smelt like a piece of meat held on a spit too long. 

At thirteen, he was refamiliarized with the smell. 

So for the three years after that, it seemed logical that Zuko avoid touch altogether. He shrunk from Uncle’s hugs, he jumped from the crew’s quick movements, he haunted his own ship in his fitful, flighty flinches. Until suddenly, the crew wore blue, and their touch came in the form of supportive hands on his shoulder, eager grasps of his arm, and one embrace that felt like grabbing driftwood seconds before drowning. 

The cruellest part of it was that Zuko had begun to heal with the Water Tribe. They did what Uncle and Mother couldn’t; they showed him that he was injured. They _saw_ him. They looked him in the eyes and told him he was hurt, hurt on the inside, and that he needed, deserved, to heal. He needed to give himself that much. And he would have done it, too, as farfetched as it seemed. He would have done anything they said. 

But before he could finally brave the step across the threshold, the door was slammed in his face and locked shut. 

And at seventeen, touch was the worst thing that could happen to a person. Touch was blood. Touch was screaming. Touch was watching your body collapse in on itself. Touch was, simply, agony. And it seemed ridiculous to consider a time when it wasn’t. Zuko knew it was ridiculous. He knew there was a chance he was delusional, that it was unrealistic for touch to have ever been anything but this, that his mother’s embrace was just the cold comfort of dead flowers at a burial and the Water Tribe’s ceaseless compassion was as hollow as their promises and Zi Se’s tiny hands weren’t enough to tame the fire. He knew it was safe to convince himself of these things. 

Except now he was stood with a blue-eyed boy who was so obnoxiously Water Tribe that it made Zuko want to punch him, and they were stood so close that Zuko could smell saltwater, and Zuko felt as close to fine as he had in months. 

“Someone’s coming.” Sokka hissed, leaning out of the ajar door. 

“A guard?” Zuko asked, forearm plastered to the doorframe, ready to slam it shut at a moment’s notice. 

They'd managed to squeeze into the storage cupboard without stabbing one another and had brainstormed the beginnings of a plan. The only way they could know what cell Hakoda was put in was if they were by the gondola when he arrived, and they could only do that if Zuko, like Sokka, had a guard’s uniform. Zuko had the misfortune of being stood by the doorhandle when Sokka decided this, and instead of doing the normal thing of getting Zuko to _move_ , Sokka had instead just opened the door to look for any passing guards, crowding Zuko against the wall, his shoulder pressed into his chest. 

He still felt trapped, he still felt like his breath was snagging in his throat, but he didn’t feel that looming dread he got when Fong approached him. The thing was, even if Zuko did feel that looming dread, he didn’t know if he’d be brave enough to push the other boy off him. Touch was agony, and it was also something he’d never had any say over. Father kept him still with his words. Fong kept him still with the earth pillars that had left their own bracelets of red and blue around Zuko’s wrists. It wasn’t something he could get away from; it was only something he could endure. 

The thought of that, like everything, made his insides curl, like there was something nesting in his ribs that had been disgruntled. 

“It’s a guard.” Sokka confirmed after a few seconds of deliberation. “Stay here.” 

“What-.” But before Zuko could even finish his alarmed question, Sokka had darted out of the room – if it could even be called that – and into the corridor, leaving the air around Zuko suddenly cold. He heard a loud, metallic clang, some fabric rustling, and then something heavy being dragged. Sokka returned a few minutes later with an evil grin and an armful of clothes. 

“Please tell me you did not just leave a half-naked guard unconscious out in the corridor.” Zuko said. 

Sokka winked, and Zuko was reminded of his previous urge to punch him. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, offering the clothes to Zuko, “he’s nice and cosy in an empty cell a few turns away. Don't want anyone checking in here for any renegade royals and handsome tribesmen now, do we?” 

Zuko snatched the clothes from him with a grumbled; “You’re insufferable.” 

“Whatever you say, jerkbender.” Sokka smiled serenely, locking the door and leaning against the opposite wall, which left about a metre between them. 

Sokka seemed to realise the predicament at the same time Zuko did, because his smile fell, eyebrows creasing. 

“Get out.” Zuko said, a rasped snarl because _he did not have the peace of mind to be dealing with this shit right now._

“Oh yeah, I’ll just go stand in the corridor of this prison we broke into.” Sokka said, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t just taller than Zuko, but broader too. Zuko's kind of muscle had always been lean and elegant, but it was clear when Sokka crossed his arms and they hardened beneath his own fingers that his was the more obvious kind of muscle. The kind that allowed him to _drag_ an adult guard. 

“I’m not getting dressed with you breathing down my neck.” Zuko hissed, suddenly more adamant. “Get. Out.” 

“Spirits, are you all this prude in the Fire Nation?” Sokka asked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll turn around, how about that? Stop flattering yourself.” 

Zuko grumbled beneath his breath as Sokka dramatically spun to face the wall, before hesitating a moment. He wanted to analyse the situation, wanted to acknowledge how stupid it was to be in such close quarters with a possible threat and purposely put himself in a position of vulnerability, but Zuko’s only coherent thought since leaving Zi Se had been Fong. He was all that mattered. Zuko blinked and saw green slowly staining red, saw the vacancy of death, saw pain finally returned. If Zuko tapped the waters of his mind, they wouldn’t just ripple; they’d flood. For now, it was safer to remain detached. He'd take the problems as they came. For all Sokka’s strength and ingenuity, Zuko was still the one with a sword. He could take him. 

With that in mind, Zuko got dressed. 

Or rather; with that in mind, Zuko _tried_ to get dressed. 

The guard uniforms were ugly and cheap, mass-produced and designed to be light. Black trousers and a black undershirt paired with a faded red tunic, all slightly too big. There were some other accessories – a belt, some armguards, uncomfortable looking shoulder pads, and of course, the clunky helmet that looked a fraction too big for him – but Zuko set them on the floor. He wouldn’t need them for a few hours. 

Besides, he couldn’t even get his fucking shirt on. 

“Please, take your time.” Sokka said helpfully, still facing away. Zuko was just buckling the trousers, shirtless beneath the flickering oil lamp hanging above him that threw his bandaged torso into a burning glow. “This wall is fascinating. Of all the walls I've seen, this one’s my favourite.” 

“Shut up.” Zuko bit out, jaw clenched as he lifted his arm. Pain was something he knew, something he was used to. He'd gotten this far simply swallowing the sensation. But the moment he tried to raise his arm above his head, his injured ribs felt like they were being yanked outwards, twisted against their will and stabbed into his lungs, leaving Zuko winded and sweating like he’d been running uphill. 

“You okay, man?” Sokka asked, and his voice was different, chin angled slightly towards him. Zuko instinctively wanted to snap at him that he was completely fine, but instead, he tensed up, fingers freezing from where they’d been reaching to cradle his ribs, like that would help. 

He'd never heard Sokka sound like that. 

He knew Sokka as hateful, or angry, or sarcastic. As a general rule, whenever Sokka spoke to him, it was in a way that clearly conveyed that he didn’t like him. Zuko didn’t have a problem with that; he didn't like Sokka either. But that simple question, those three words – it was _different_. Sokka had sounded... soft. Not concerned, not after the things Zuko had done, but as close to concerned as he could get. 

“You seem pretty distracted for someone who says that’s their favourite wall.” Zuko responded dryly, and his eyes watched the way Sokka’s shoulders jumped with his scoff, watched as his mouth turned up, slightly visible for a moment before he once again turned to the wall. He hadn’t seen Zuko, but Zuko had seen him. 

Zuko blinked, weirdly disorientated, before returning to the task at hand. 

This time, he was ready. He grit his teeth like he’d learned to, and lifted his arm as quickly as he could, as high as he dared. 

White-hot pain tore through him, exploding from his chest and pulling up his arm all the way to his fingers. Zuko yanked the sleeve on and almost collapsed to the floor, the pain slowly ebbing, his breath returning to him in spluttered pants. His forehead thunked against the wall, body turned sideways as he supported as much of himself as he could against the first solid thing in a long time. It wasn’t enough. It never was. 

“You are definitely not okay.” 

Zuko had forgotten Sokka was there for a moment. He’d forgotten everything. Who he was, where he was, past, future and present; everything was eaten alive by the pain. Zuko supposed that was the point of all this. 

“‘M fine.” Zuko mumbled, cursing when the exhausted ache showed in his slurred tone. 

“I’m turning around.” Sokka said, and Zuko didn’t even have it in him to stop him. 

Sokka was facing him again, and for a second, their eyes connected. 

Then Sokka was looking down, and his face twisted in shock. 

____ 

Sokka was smart. 

He wasn’t the bender his sister was and he wasn’t the warrior his dad was, but he was smart. Always had been. Because of that, he knew that seeing someone injured, no matter how much of an enemy they were, caused a primordial reaction, an innate urge to _mend_. 

Or cry. 

Or both. 

That was why, when Sokka looked at Zuko, he pushed away the incessant nagging whisper in his head that reminded him of Zuko’s evilness, and instead just looked at him like another human being. 

That might not have been the best idea though, because from one human to another, it was unbearable. 

Zuko was handsome. Sokka knew that. He knew it when they first met. He knew it despite the stupid ponytail. He knew it with or without the scar. Zuko was handsome and it had absolutely _destroyed_ Sokka to admit that, but it was true. And Zuko shirtless should have, from one human to another, been a positive experience. 

It wasn’t. 

Because Zuko was a shadow of the raging firebender from Sokka’s memories. He'd hidden it beneath that all-black outfit that covered every inch up to his jaw, but now it was clear as day. Zuko's skin was pale, almost enough to mimic the land Sokka grew up in, and Sokka knew well enough what blood in snow looked like. It looked like this. Red and vibrant and _unmissable_. Sokka had seen a lot in his life, things he shouldn’t have, but this horror was something he was foreign to. Sokka didn’t know this. Sokka knew plans and lists and maps... 

If he were mapping Zuko, he would begin his odyssey with the South Pole chill of his pale skin. The ashes of a long-cold campfire formed the purpling bruises spattering Zuko’s chest, like a cartographer got messy with all the dark colours and flicked them everywhere, some as small as fingerprints and others as large as fists. Sokka didn’t miss the possibility of there being a reason for those measurements. Forests of slashed reds grew down Zuko’s spine, and Tui, Sokka could get caught in the currents of the white-scar tributaries that ran beneath white-fresh bandages, water beneath a bridge, could fall from the severe cliffs of the other boy’s collarbones, could get lost in the caves between bones, and he mapped that... that _lackingness_ all over Zuko’s unnavigable shoulders, down arms that still curled with muscle and misdirection and _nothing else_ , down to wrists that were signposted with red. Sokka had been chained before, long enough that it bruised. He knew what that mark was supposed to look like. This was different. The bracelets of suffering on Zuko were thicker than the marks left from ordinary manacles, and his skin hadn’t just bruised, but had chafed off entirely, leaving some horrific form of scabbing, like the thin crust of volcanic rock that sat atop lava, ready to crack open at the slightest pressure. 

This landscape was a circumnavigation of pain. Sokka was lost, and he felt hollow as his gaze finally met Zuko’s again. Zuko was waiting, eyebrow raised, lips twisted into a mocking smile. 

“I think you had a better view when you were staring at the wall.” He husked, and Spirits, he was trying to joke this off, like this was okay, like Sokka was the kind of monster who would find that funny. 

It snapped Sokka out of his despair, and he felt anger instead, because Sokka wasn’t that kind of monster, and _this wasn’t okay_. 

With a trembling voice, quieter than anything he’d ever said to Zuko before, Sokka spoke. 

_“What happened to you?”_

____ 

Zuko reeled from the question like he did to open flame, returning to wrestling with the stupid tunic in order to ignore Sokka and his wide eyes and _the way he was looking at him_. His jerkish movements pulled Sokka from wherever his mind had gone, and he blinked slowly. For a second longer, that strange, misplaced softness swam in his eyes, and then it was gone, replaced with a steady acceptance, like he knew Zuko wasn’t going to answer, like he wasn’t going to push him if he wasn’t ready. 

“Here, idiot.” Sokka said with a small smile. “Give me the sleeve...” He trailed off, his hands explaining in place of his words, and Zuko held his breath as the other boy leaned in a little closer, gently pulling the fabric of the tunic over Zuko’s shoulder, avoiding direct contact with Zuko’s skin. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was afraid Zuko would hurt him or afraid he would hurt Zuko, but he didn’t like either. 

This was supposed to be embarrassing. Zuko needed help getting his fucking arm through a sleeve. It was humiliating. But every pulse of heat that fogged up his cheeks was met with nonchalance from Sokka, like this wasn’t a big deal, which made no sense. Just because they had a fragile truce here, it didn’t mean they weren’t enemies. Sokka should be taking every vulnerability Zuko handed him and twisting it in whatever direction hurt the most. That... wasn’t what he was doing. Zuko didn’t know what he was doing, and that made him nervous. 

Finally, the ordeal was over. Zuko untensed a fraction the moment his chest was covered, the atrocities that lay there once again being hidden from view. The uniform meant his arms were out, but the armguards covered the marks on his wrists, and besides, he knew his torso had suffered the worst of Fong, and that was out of sight now. He _almost_ looked normal like this. Almost. 

“Stop staring.” Zuko said monotonously, eyes trained on the armguards he was aggressively strapping on. He didn’t need them yet, but something about the way Sokka had looked at him had shaken him. He’d been shirtless. That was it. He'd done most of his firebending training like that without thinking twice. It wasn’t a big deal. So why had he felt so vulnerable? He'd felt naked, felt helpless, felt ensnared. He didn’t like it, and wanted to cover as many of his injuries as possible. But that didn't change anything, apparently, because Sokka was still staring. 

“Again, you flatter yourself.” Sokka said breezily, but Zuko didn’t miss the beat of hesitation. Agni, Zuko had known his scars were bad, but this was excessive. Right? 

Zuko leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath before finally scrounging the courage to look at Sokka again. He felt embarrassed, but also weirdly ashamed. He didn’t want to be. This was Fong’s doing. This was Fong’s pain. This was Fong’s anger. Not his. It wasn’t his to be ashamed of. But still, the sight of Sokka stood there, arms crossed again, blue eyes steady, made words tumble into Zuko’s mouth, clunky and desperate, knocking against the backs of his teeth, wrestling his jaws. An explanation. 

He kept them unsaid, and swallowed their metallic aftertaste. The eagle-hawk in his chest flapped and clawed and screeched a shaking reminder; he didn’t owe this. 

“What’s that?” Sokka asked, nodding to the hollow of Zuko’s neck. It caught him off guard, and Zuko’s hand absentmindedly raised, stilling when he brushed Zi Se’s necklace. He felt a warmth fill him. Not a bolt of it, or even a wave of it. No, the warmth Zi Se caused was always more of a glow. Always so soft, so innocent, so tender. He couldn’t help but smile a little. 

He already missed him. 

“It belongs to this kid I know.” Zuko said, voice quiet but almost violent in its fondness, as if daring Sokka to challenge it. It was peculiar in itself, this urge to talk about Zi Se, because Zuko never shared Zi Se with anyone. He couldn’t trust anyone else with him until Akinari. And now he was telling _Sokka?_

But Sokka just grinned, intrigued. “Yeah? How old is he?” 

“Five.” Zuko said, and it shouldn’t have felt so personal, but it did. “Although, he insists that ‘nearly six’ doesn’t count as five.” 

Sokka snorted, as if surprised by the joke, before nodding his head in understanding. There was a massiveness to his stare, and it made Zuko want to keep talking. 

“He’s a good kid.” Zuko whispered, almost breathless. “He’s real quiet, but he looks at you, and you just know he’s smart. And he is. Smart, I mean. He says shit sometimes and I just have no clue how to answer.” Zuko was smiling now, unreserved. “And he’s kind, and he’s funny, and he deserves so much better. Fuck, he deserves the damn world, you know?” 

Zuko took a deep breath, smile dropping into a frown. He didn’t know where any of that came from, he just knew that once he started talking, he couldn’t stop. And Sokka’s eyes held him there, captive like a ship lost at sea, and he just _listened_. Not the kind of listening that Zuko used to get from Azula, or Lieutenant Jee who had better things to be doing than listening to an angry child, but the kind of listening where it was so painfully obvious that Sokka was, for whatever reason, hanging off Zuko’s every word. It had been a long time since Zuko had been given such an innocent, human form of attention, and he didn’t expect it to mean so much. 

“He sounds really cool.” Sokka said, and Zuko was starting to notice the way his nose scrunched a little whenever he smiled. “Guessing he’s Fire Nation?” 

“Not the kind of Fire Nation you’re thinking of.” Zuko said, sighing a little. It came out easily, but Sokka tensed up, his stare turning into something else. 

“What?” Zuko asked, not liking the hopeful glint in Sokka’s eye. 

“Nothing.” Sokka raised an eyebrow. “It’s just last time I saw you, you were all ‘agh go Fire Nation!’ and now you’re sounding a little more on the fence.” 

Zuko turned his head away, finding a crevice in the door to focus on. “It’s not that simple.” 

Sokka’s smile fell. “What? Sure it is. Spreading war and violence and hatred is sort of the Fire Nation’s whole deal. It's not difficult to realise that that’s not exactly a good thing, like, objectively.” 

Zuko snapped his gaze back to Sokka, fists clenching. “You don’t think I know that? I've _seen_ what my nation has done. But... but it’s still my nation. It's still my home.” 

Home. The word cracked and broke in the space between them, as if knowing the audacity it took to utter such a thing, after everything. But that’s what the Fire Nation was to Zuko, wasn’t it? His home. He would always be the Fire Prince, and after he killed Fong, he’d finally, _finally_ , be worthy of that title. 

He'd be like Father, and his thirteen-year-old self would rejoice, and his seventeen-year-old self would do nothing, because he wasn’t doing this for Father. Fong and Zi Se. He had no plans for after that. Once Fong was dead and Zuko could tell his nightmares that he couldn’t hurt him or Zi Se ever again, there was nothing left. Vacancy would be his safety and he would settle in the cavities of life, never quite in reach of contentment. But he would have Zi Se, and that would be enough. 

Sokka's offended scoff pulled Zuko from his mind. He really needed to stop doing that. He'd spent so long in that cell, accustomed to fading in and out of shadows and reality, and it was leading him to lose a few seconds every now and then. 

“Ugh!” Sokka threw his hands up in exasperation. “You’re all as terrible as each other. I bet you aren’t even here to break someone out. On Tui, if you’re here for some weird, top secret, Fire Nation meeting, then I won’t help you. I'm not enabling your little warmongering bullshit-.” 

“I’m not here for the Fire Nation, so maybe you should just drop it.” Zuko snarled, and Sokka blinked, surprised by the venom, the threat, in Zuko’s words. If Zuko were concentrating more, he’d roll his eyes. Their conversations had leapt and tumbled and skipped, jumping from topic to everchanging topic. Sokka saw Fong in the twisted mutilation of Zuko’s flesh and he saw Zi Se in the dainty necklace around Zuko’s neck and now he saw the impossible complexity of Ozai who had never been _that simple_. And Sokka took but he didn’t give, questioned while Zuko answered, listened while Zuko talked, because he didn’t have the middle of it. He had the beginning, that saw him and Zuko fighting in the South Pole, and he had the end, that saw him and Zuko a mere metre apart in a truce. He didn’t know how the two points connected. He knew the first act and the intermission but he didn’t know the plot, and it was making their interactions spiral between the known and unknown. 

If Zuko were concentrating more, he’d understand that confusion, he’d accept that it was valid, that he knew he wasn’t a threat to Sokka but Sokka had no reason to think that, but Zuko wasn’t concentrating, because his mind was flicking through images like the beating soar of a bird’s wing. Fong grinning. Fong talking. Fong interrogating. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not here, in this cramped room where he could barely breathe with that hideous orange flame right above his head. 

“Why should I believe you? You're the _Prince of the Fire Nation_. You hunted us so you could kidnap Aang. You probably made up that thing about the kid just to make me trust you.” Sokka hissed. 

“Why the fuck would I make something like that up? And besides, you’re the one who blackmailed me into helping you!” Zuko exclaimed, before breathing deep, lowering his voice. “This was all _your_ idea. ‘Two heads are better than one’, remember? I was happy to go on my own.” 

“That was because I thought you being, you know, the _literal Blue Spirit_ might mean you’d let go of your Fire Nation ways,” Sokka glared him down, “I should have known better.” 

That animosity in his eyes, in his squared back shoulders, in his tensed jaw, was something Zuko recognised. Before Fong, before even the Ullaakut, there was Sokka and his burning dislike of Zuko. Now, Zuko clung to it. 

“Why?” He asked scornfully. “Because I’m a terrible person? Because I'm the Fire Lord’s son? Because when I do this,” he lifted his hand and the room gasped in blue flame, “I burn? _It's not that simple_.” He repeated the sentence that had set this argument in motion, taking a small, threatening step towards the other boy, facing off with a cruel smirk. “I get it. I do. What the Fire Nation did and continues to do is unforgivable, and things need to change. But I am terrible for other reasons, Sokka, Water Tribe. And they aren’t reasons you can simplify.” 

Sokka flinched at the nickname, a twisted inside joke used as a mocking dagger. Zuko glared for a second longer, before quenching the flame in a shaking fist, leaning back against the wall, satisfied to some minute extent. 

Zuko didn’t know how long it was quiet for, but he knew Sokka was thinking. He’d underestimated the other boy’s intelligence in the past - back when he was ignorant enough to think anyone with blue eyes was inherently lesser - and he wouldn’t do it again. Sokka was thinking, and Zuko was patiently waiting in the silence, enjoying it while it lasted. A few minutes passed, Zuko estimated, still coming to terms with his inner-clock that felt sluggish to say the least. 

Finally, Sokka spoke. “We should sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow. I'll go on first watch.” He said, voice rough and tired sounding, to the point even though Zuko knew he’d never trust Sokka – or anyone – to stay on lookout while he slept, he nodded anyway. He didn’t mind faking for a few hours. If anything, he was curious to see if Sokka tried anything while he thought Zuko was defenceless. 

Sokka didn’t say anything else after that, and Zuko figured this was how their truce was going to be. Not the strange banter it had started as, or the quick anger that had followed that, or the moments Sokka’s fingers had danced inches above Zuko’s skin, never touching. No. Now, they were resigned to stony silences and curt sentences. Zuko could live with that. He welcomed it. He knew the rot within him, and distantly, a part of him understood that it was unfair to contaminate someone who smiled as easily as Sokka. 

They both settled down, trying to get comfortable in the limited room without having to brush against each other, and Zuko hesitantly closed his eyes. 

____ 

Sokka could tell Zuko didn’t mean to go to sleep, but the other teenager was exhausted, and after about an hour, his breathing became too rhythmic to fake, his head falling limp into his palm, elbow on his knee. He looked peaceful like that, which was ridiculously ironic, because Sokka was leaning against the opposite wall with a battleground in his head. 

Zuko was an enigma, and Sokka liked to solve things, but he couldn’t figure this out. Zuko wasn’t here for the Fire Nation, and he was the identity behind a famous anonymous _vigilante_ working against them, and he’d brought up that kid and his face had lit up in such a way that Sokka was magnetised, leaning forward to catch every word, and Zuko had a bad attitude, but one thing he hadn’t been rude about was the fact Sokka was Water Tribe. He was different to the boy who’d once called Sokka a ‘Water Tribe peasant.’ These facts were the _something_ Sokka had been unable to name when he first saw Zuko again, and they were the reason he’d let his guard down a fraction. The truth was, he’d thought at first, somewhat naively, that he understood Zuko. He'd thought he liked the way Zuko bounced back with his sarcasm, he’d thought he liked the way Zuko was brash but still tactical, he’d thought he liked the fond curl of Zuko’s fingers around his sword that Sokka was itching to get a better look at. He’d thought he liked Zuko, this version of him. He'd thought this version of Zuko had an apology on the tip of his tongue, and Sokka was, surprisingly, willing to hear him out. 

But then Zuko looked the way he did and didn’t explain it, and wherever he’d been these past few months, it was somewhere terrifying and incomprehensible and it had sparked a hatred in him, and Zuko had said the words ‘ _I am terrible_ ’ while his fist blazed blue. When Sokka expected an apology, Zuko grew defensive, like he was falling back on instinct. And instinct told him to defend his homeland. 

And Zuko was right. This _had_ been Sokka’s idea. Sokka _had_ blackmailed him into helping find his dad. But could Sokka even begrudge him that? Why would Zuko _willingly_ help the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe? He had no reason to. It's not like they’d been chumming it up while Sokka was gone. Sokka smirked at the thought of Zuko and the Water Tribe together, almost laughing at the prospect of him interacting with Chena. Spirits, they’d _hate_ each other. 

Sokka's mind was a battleground of Zuko and the various angles he seemed to be fighting from, but when all was said and done, he came back to a single thought. A single, infuriating, embarrassing thought. 

Zuko had pretty eyes. 

He had pretty eyes and his gaze was the kind of heavy that almost made Sokka sweat. Seriously, whose eyes were _that_ gold? It was ridiculous. And they had flecks of amber in them, some copper, like two alloys staring at him, like-. 

“And you said _I_ was insufferable.” Sokka muttered childishly, interrupting his own ridiculous thoughts, watching Zuko sleep. They had a lot to do tomorrow. Namely, breaking Hakoda out of prison _somehow_. Zuko had said that the prisoners came in on gondolas on the top level of the prison every sunrise, and Sokka deduced that if they got up there with the rest of the guards then they could see exactly which cell Hakoda was put in. Dad would have a plan after that. Dad always had a plan. 

Zuko stirred and a stray black bang fell into his face, brushing his scar. Something twinged in Sokka’s chest, and he sighed sadly. 

Sokka was a good person. Zuko might not be, but Sokka was, and when he looked at the collection of agonies coating the other teenager, he felt no shame in admitting that, whatever Zuko had done in the past, he at least did not deserve _this_. No one did. 

Sokka decided that was as good a development as any in his latest problem: The Unsolved Enigma Of Prince Jerkbender. He’d crack it one day. 

Being on watch was boring, and Sokka was close to bashing his head against the wall as the minutes trudged by, but he didn’t wake Zuko up. Not yet. He told himself that he was just savouring the quiet before Zuko started snapping at him again, but Sokka knew that wasn’t true. Zuko just looked so unburdened when he slept, and Sokka wasn’t ready to take that from him. Not even if it reduced his mind to a bored mush. 

_Not yet_ , he told himself, as one hour became two, became three... 

____ 

Zuko woke up a mere hour before sunrise, blinking groggily for a few seconds before jumping upright. The sudden movement knocked something heavy beside him, and he snapped his head to the side to see Sokka. Sokka, who had moved from sitting opposite him to sitting in the corner of the room, so close beside him that Zuko felt the ghost of warmth plastered up his side from where Sokka’s body had been. 

Zuko's jumpy start had stirred Sokka, but he was still asleep, simply moving to lean his head against the wall, eyelashes fluttering against tanned cheeks. Zuko's breath caught in his throat, still dumbfounded and completely unaided by his still-waking-up mind. 

He finally composed himself enough to kick an angry foot into Sokka’s side. 

“Five more minutes, Katara.” Sokka mumbled. His hair had completely fallen out of its tie, curtaining his face in brown strands. 

“Up.” Zuko kicked him again. “Get up. _Now._ ” 

With a loud and dramatic groan, Sokka’s eyes fluttered open, and he frowned, brain not quite caught up on the memory of falling asleep in a prison. There was something oddly domestic about watching Sokka wake up, watching his face go through the motions, watching him stretch out his arms, spine cracking back into place after an uncomfortable night sat up. 

Zuko was here to end a man’s life. He should _not_ have been thinking about how much Sokka suited having his hair down. 

“I’m up.” Sokka grumbled, rubbing his face. “I’m up. Was never down. Rearing to go.” 

“You were very much down.” Zuko said, annoyed. “Why didn’t you wake me up? What's the point in having someone on lookout if you’re just going to pass out on me the moment I go to sleep?” 

It was Zuko’s fault for even falling asleep. He couldn’t remember it happening. One moment, he was sat there, eyes lidded as he listened intently for any movement from Sokka, and the next, he was waking up with the feel of Agni distantly on the cusp of rising. He was such an _idiot._

“Okay, first of all,” Sokka grabbed at the wall as he inelegantly got to his feet, Zuko following smoothly. “I did not pass out on you. And second of all,” Sokka hesitated, clearly not thinking this far ahead, “second of all, _I did not pass out on you._ It’s just...” 

“Just what?” Zuko asked, impatiently hauling his scabbard over his shoulder and raking his hands through his hair a few times just as Sokka began to methodically braid back his own hair. 

“Prisons are cold, so sue me.” Sokka shrugged, a mischievous grin on his lips. 

Zuko blinked. “I am _not_ a heater.” 

“True,” Sokka patted Zuko’s shoulder, missing his flinch, “heaters don’t talk this much.” 

They bickered for a while longer, but Sokka seemed to have reverted back to his usual, nonchalant, joking ways. It was like their argument from the night before hadn’t happened, which made no sense, because people didn’t just _stop being angry with Zuko._ It was always blatant and prolonged, but this was... this was easy. 

Zuko refused to think too hard on it, and they resigned themselves to the plan they’d formulated. Sunrise would see prisoners coming in. Sokka was adamant Hakoda would be in with today’s lot, and if Hakoda came in today, so would Fong. They were both leaders that aided the invasion; there was no reason they would have been separated. The thought of Fong anywhere near Hakoda made Zuko’s skin crawl, but he needed to control himself better. Any thoughts of Hakoda were to be pushed aside. The Chief might try to stop him, might try to change his mind. The Chief might find out what Zuko was going to do, and he might be _disappointed_ in him. 

After everything, Zuko knew that, as pathetic as it was, he wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

So he’d just avoid Hakoda at all costs. 

No matter how tempting it was to see him, no matter how much he craved something familiar, no matter how much he desperately needed that strange security Hakoda had offered once upon a time. 

Zuko couldn’t be weak. 

Not with Fong so close. 

Not with Zi Se on the line. 

____ 

The eclipse happened over a week ago now, and Hakoda was still being moved about. This wasn’t abnormal; he knew that. Moving prisoners was a lengthy process, and moving this many prisoners was tedious. The rest of his men were being taken to a place called Shuhon Prison, but Hakoda was a leader, and the leaders were being taken somewhere else. Somewhere stronger. He'd been kept in various cells this past week, placeholders, but now, he found himself alone in a gondola on his way to the Fire Nation’s most secure prison. 

Alone, aside General Fong. 

Hakoda had done everything in his power to avoid him this past week, and he’d mainly succeeded, but the Southern Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom had made up the invasion force, and Hakoda and Fong were the leaders of their respective groups. This was inevitable. 

The two men stood on polar sides of the far too small gondola, the strange contraption slowly crawling across the boiling lake below them. Hakoda tried to keep his gaze on the approaching, formidable prison, but he could still see Fong out of the corner of his eye, see him feeling sorry for himself as he poked and prodded his injuries. In the past week, Fong had formed a black eye and a split lip and probably any number of internal injuries, courtesy of Kanut, a _healer_. The sick irony made Hakoda want to laugh and scream at the same time. 

Hakoda shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here, away from his men. He shouldn’t be here, away from his family. He shouldn’t be here, with the man who tortured Zuko. 

Yet here he was, and if he ever wanted to find a way out, he had to accept that. Denial was a buffer and, in turn, a distraction. 

Fong would rot in the Boiling Rock prison, and that had to be enough. 

“You know,” Fong said quietly, “everything I did, I did to try and end this war. I only did what you were too weak to.” 

Somehow, Hakoda suspected Fong rotting in prison would not be enough. 

For his own sanity’s sake, Hakoda kept his mouth shut, fingers gripping the edge of the gondola. Just a few more minutes, then the guards on this side of the boiling lake would separate them. Hakoda wouldn’t be punished for bad behaviour before even arriving, and especially not for _Fong_. 

“He wasn’t even useful, in the end.” Fong snarled, talking more to himself, and Hakoda’s fingers began to ache with the force in which they gripped the gondola. “He didn’t know anything, and the Fire Lord didn’t even respond.” 

“ _What?_ ” Hakoda hissed, regretting the reaction as soon as he whirled on Fong, who stared with dejected green eyes. 

“Barbaric, isn’t it?” Fong asked with a shake of his head. “All that pain, and the Prince’s father couldn’t even dignify it with a response. The heartlessness of that nation never fails to horrify me." 

Fong was talking like him and Hakoda were old friends discussing politics, like this was normal, was _fine_. Like he hadn’t tortured a teenager while knowing full well it wasn’t even gaining him anything. Fong was right; it was barbaric. 

Fong orchestrated it, and Ozai allowed it, and Zuko was caught between their two cruelties like an animal caught between two jaws of a trap. 

Hakoda wondered if this was the most hatred he’d ever harboured for another person. He wanted to confront the Fire Lord himself, bending be damned. He couldn’t because the Fire Lord wasn’t here and Hakoda was headed towards the prison designed by him, but Fong was here. Fong, who held half of this misery. 

He forced himself to breathe. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Repeat. 

“Stop talking.” He finally whispered, looking away from Fong. If he kept picturing the terrified boy on the bowsprit before this man, he’d be sick. 

“After everything they’ve done, Hakoda," Fong growled, animosity dripping from his words, and Hakoda heard him take a step closer, “you want to pity them? One hundred years of pain, of death and disease and starvation and war, and you want to pity them? How many have suffered at their hands? I unleashed barely a fraction of that onto their Prince. If anything, I was merciful-.” 

_Merciful_. The word latched itself in Hakoda’s mind, repeating. _Merciful_ , a hand ignited in flames pressed to a son’s face. _Merciful_ , a General brutalising a teenager for the sins of his family. _Merciful_ , a crew calling him their friend and then abandoning him to his fate. Zuko didn’t even know mercy, and he certainly hadn’t learnt it from this man, and everything in Hakoda snapped like the wicked jerk of tectonic plates pushing together, and he shook like an earthquake as he lunged. 

Hakoda was bigger than Fong and his hands wrapped comfortably around the other man’s neck, squeezing tight. He swore he smelt blood on the General’s uniform, and smoke, and tea leaves. He swore he heard haggard screams ringing through his mind, pulse thundering beneath his fingertips. 

“He’s a child!” Hakoda yelled, thumbs pushing harder. Fong clawed at him, trying to evade his grip, to breathe, but Hakoda was immovable as a mountain. “You want to tell me the damage of the Fire Nation? _I know_. I almost lost everything to them.” He saw Kya and held on tighter. “They have committed these atrocities because they have been blinded by hatred, and you’ve let them do the same to you.” 

Fong was getting weaker in his grip, nails leaving bloody scratches on Hakoda’s hands, but Hakoda couldn’t let go, not yet. 

“A burn can’t be healed with more fire.” Hakoda snarled. “We have to be better than them, if we want any chance of ending this war.” 

It took all of Hakoda’s willpower to unlatch himself off this sorry excuse of a man, throwing Fong to the side and enjoying the satisfying _thump_ his body made against the metal. Fong choked and wheezed on his hands and knees, grasping at his bruised throat as he heaved in gasp after helpless gasp, and it wasn’t enough. 

Hakoda looked away, facing the prison again. They were pulling into it now. Hakoda didn’t know what would happen next, if the others would find a way to help him, if he’d be able to figure out an escape plan. But he had hope. Every day, he was reminded more and more of why the war had to end. For Sokka. For Katara. For the crew. 

For Zuko. 

“Take their weapons and line them up for the warden!” A guard called as the gondola screeched to a halt. Hakoda tensed, steady hands darting to the broadsword strapped to his back. He knew he’d have his weapons taken off him sooner or later, but this past week, he’d been allowed to keep it. He suspected the lower-ranking Fire Nation guards hoped the Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom would start squabbling, and weapons provided more of a show. Such pettiness wasn’t allowed here, but even the thought of this sword being taken from him, and by a _warden_ , made his stomach knot. 

But what could he do? 

The guard that snatched it from him sneered, saying something to a fellow guard about ‘putting it with the others.’ Just like that, all Hakoda had left of Zuko was taken away, and all he could do was watch, stood on this strange platform with the muggy Fire Nation breeze twisting around him. Hakoda didn’t mean to antagonise the warden, but it came naturally. Bato would laugh. Kanut would tell him off. After that, he was taken to a cell, grateful to see Fong separated from him. If he was lucky, he’d never see the man again. 

He was left alone, the door locking firmly behind him, but not even a few seconds later, the door creaked open again, one of the guards stepping inside, a little lankier than the others. Hakoda squared back his shoulders, ready for trouble. 

“Thank goodness you’re okay.” The guard said, and Hakoda blinked in confusion, before raising his fists. 

“If you take one step closer, you’ll see how _okay_ I am.” He snarled. 

But then the guard lifted his helmet, and Hakoda was met with the familiar blue gaze of Sokka. 

____ 

No one suspected anything when Zuko and Sokka slipped into the flow of guards moving towards the gondolas, and they walked at the back, staying silent and unforthcoming. It was a short walk, but it took them over a small balcony that looked out onto the yard. The prisoners were just being called in, and Zuko couldn’t help but search for any familiar faces, ignoring the relief he felt when he didn’t find anyone. 

Sokka, it seemed, had the same idea with less luck than Zuko. He gasped, pausing and making Zuko yank him forward before the other guards noticed. 

“It’s Suki.” Sokka whispered to Zuko in a low hiss. 

“What?” Zuko asked, because this was the worst place for any hitches in their already vague plan. 

“She’s my-.” Sokka paused, face twisting into a frown. _Oh_ , Zuko thought. “It doesn’t matter. She's here. We can’t leave her behind.” 

Zuko was about to snap at Sokka that it was too late, but he hesitated. He knew he couldn’t see Hakoda. He just couldn’t. This was an escape from that, and Sokka was handing it to him. 

“You go find your dad.” He said steadily, stopping to face Sokka and letting the rest of the guards walk away. “I’ll get Suki. There's an old library on the ground floor from when the prison had more funding.” And when the prison was kinder. “It was completely abandoned last time I was here, and they had no plans to do it up anytime soon. Get your dad and we’ll all meet there.” 

Sokka was staring again, and he had these flecks in his eyes, all shades of blue. It might have been the light, but for a moment, his eyes were iridescent. 

“Thank you.” Sokka said, and he said it so earnestly that Zuko felt guilt slide around his neck, because he wasn’t doing it for Sokka. 

And then, Sokka offered his hand. Zuko looked at it a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat, before gripping Sokka by the elbow. The Water Tribe way. Sokka raised a curious eyebrow, but Zuko allowed nothing but a small, sad smile. 

“I’ll see you soon, Zuko, Fire Nation.” Sokka said, and Zuko chuckled at the stupid nickname. 

Sokka gave Zuko a quick description of Suki that turned into a rambled _‘and beautiful, did I mention she’s beautiful? Like picture the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen then times that by a million’_ that Zuko cut off, and now all he had was _‘ask for the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors.’_

And just like that, Sokka was jogging away to catch up with the guards, and Zuko’s hand fell to his side, cold. 

Finding Suki was surprisingly easy. No one suspected Zuko to be anything other than a guard, and all he had to do was ask the first person he saw where the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors was being kept and he was directed straight to her cell. 

This was stupid. Zuko didn’t have time to be fetching Sokka’s sort-of-girlfriend. Fong would be here any minute now, and Zuko had to find him. But he couldn’t find him if he saw Hakoda, because Hakoda would say something. He always said _something_. Something that froze Zuko in place and made him think. For once, he didn’t want to think. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was making the wrong decision. It was for Zi Se. 

The girl was beautiful, Sokka was right about that, and jumped elegantly to her feet the moment Zuko opened the door to her cell and shut it behind him, face a determined scowl. The Kyoshi Warriors were a fearsome lot. Zuko had met them when he followed the Avatar to Kyoshi Island, and he’d set their village on fire. It all seemed so pointless now. Violence for the sake of violence, for the sake of the Avatar, for the sake of his father’s empty promises. 

“What is it? Did I do something wrong?” The girl snapped, folding her arms, but she’d planted her feet, and Zuko knew if he made a wrong move, she was ready to pounce. 

He took a deep breath, knowing this was probably going to be bad, before taking his helmet off. The girl reacted before he even got the chance to talk, and he supposed the scarred Prince who burnt down her village was more recognisable than he’d hoped. 

“ _You!_ ” Suki hissed, jumping back a step, eyes wide. 

Zuko raised his hands in surrender. “I’m here to help.” 

“Oh,” the girl scoffed, “the Prince of the Fire Nation is here to help me, how sweet of him.” 

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I'm here with Sokka.” That made her pause, the fists she’d raised lowering, suddenly almost vulnerable. She shuttered off as quickly as she’d opened up, narrowing her eyes. 

“If you’ve hurt him-.” 

“I haven’t, I swear on my honour.” Zuko said, hands still raised, scouring his mind for something, anything, to convince her. 

As if following that train of thought, Suki turned accusing. “What is a Fire Prince’s honour worth?” She snarled, and Zuko swallowed. He'd tuned out of a lot of Sokka’s rant about Suki. He had better things to be focusing on other than how much Sokka idolised this girl – and she was very much a _girl_ , not that it mattered – but now, he wished he’d paid more attention. He needed to give Suki _something_. Something only Sokka would know. Something he wouldn’t tell Zuko unless they were working together. 

Zuko remembered something vague and latched onto it for dear life. 

“He- He told me about your uniform,” he started eagerly, “something about golden thread and it representing bravery, or blood, or... or something. I'm not sure, he just kept gushing over you so I sort of tuned out. But you get the point!” Zuko fumbled, rolling his eyes at his own poor delivery. 

But despite the messiness of his words, Suki had cocked her head, less aggressive than before, eyebrows pulling into a small frown. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the coarse prison tunic she wore, as if remembering another outfit from another time. Her touch wasn’t longing, it was... fierce. She would get it back. There was no doubt about it. 

“But...” She finally muttered. “Why would he ally with _you?_ ” 

Zuko sighed in relief. She believed him. 

He thought for a moment, before shaking his head. How could he explain this? 

“It’s a long story.” Was the explanation he settled for, lowering his hands, pretending not to notice Suki scrutinising his every move. “Hakoda’s here, so we’re all going to meet on the ground floor. I told Sokka I'd make sure you got there okay.” 

Suki was quiet for a few seconds, still sizing Zuko up, before sighing, shoulders drooping. “Fine.” She said. “But know I haven’t forgiven you for what you did to my village, and what you did to my friends.” 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Zuko said honestly. He was here for many things; forgiveness certainly wasn’t one of them. 

“So, how do we get to the ground floor without getting caught?” Suki asked, and Zuko winced. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

Suki rolled her eyes. “Ugh, are boys allergic to using their brain or something?” 

Zuko shrugged, and she threw her hands up in exasperation. 

“You’re the Prince, surely you can pull some strings?” She tried, tugging on the end of her auburn hair; a nervous habit. Her hair was the same shade as Renmin’s, Zuko thought distantly, and it was such a sudden memory that he was silenced momentarily, before clearing his throat. 

“I’m technically banished from the Fire Nation.” 

Suki stared at him for a few long seconds, blinking slowly. “Banished.” She repeated in disbelief. 

“I broke in here.” 

“Broke in.” 

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not liking how she was staring at him like he was an idiot. He was, of course, but she didn’t need to be so obvious about it. 

“You are...” Suki started, and Zuko didn’t even mean to tense, expecting the worst, “not what I expected.” 

Zuko frowned, not sure how to take that. Suki’s eyes were narrowed, and Zuko felt like she was reading his mind, witnessing his every thought. For a moment, he thought she might just figure out why he was here, but then she blinked, shaking her head. 

“Would it work for us to just walk there?” She asked, like nothing had happened. “If anyone asks, just say the warden told you to move me. If that doesn’t work,” her lips curled up evilly, “then I doubt they’ll be a match for a Kyoshi Warrior and a Crown Prince.” 

Zuko decided he liked Suki, and matched her grin. 

“Let’s go.” 

He poked his head through the door, leaning slightly out into the corridor to check the coast was clear. As he did, his necklace fell forward, and he returned to the cell to see Suki staring at it, her eyes blatantly curious. Zuko was still trying to gage her personality; she was strong, and tough, and downright scary if she wanted to be, and she was smart. Which was why he didn’t expect her to suddenly reach forward to inspect his necklace, missing how he froze up, expecting a blow and receiving none. 

“I like that.” Was all she said, smiling a little. 

Zuko pulled it from her prying fingers. “Thanks.” He said, for lack of a better response. 

Not for the first time, Zuko wondered what Zi Se was doing right now. 

____ 

Zi Se was refusing to eat. 

“Come on, kid, work with me here.” Akinari pleaded, once again offering the bowl of noodles. Zi Se just clamped his mouth shut even more, turning his head away, arms crossed. Akinari knew he had to be hungry; Zi Se hadn’t eaten since this time yesterday. But he was just _refusing._

Akinari sighed, leaning back on his heels. He'd been trying for twenty minutes now, and Zi Se hadn’t even taken a bite. 

“It’s good.” Akinari tried again. “I even put that sauce on that you like. And if you eat it all, I'll let you go paddle in the river for a bit. How’s that sound?” 

Zi Se pouted, before shouting; “No!” 

Akinari groaned. “Zi Se, please. You need to eat.” 

“I want Zuko.” Zi Se mumbled moodily, and Akinari sighed sadly. 

He'd told the Prince that the damage done to Zi Se was mental rather than physical, but this was worse than he’d feared. Food was something both boys had reacted strongly to in their time at the White Lotus camp, and it had mutilated into this; Zi Se outright refusing to eat unless Prince Zuko was there. 

“At least let me light a candle in here.” Akinari said softly, nodding at the shadowed tent. “It’s a little dark.” 

Zi Se shook his head. “I like it.” 

“And that tunic?” Akanari asked, flicking a glance to what Zi Se was wearing. A grey tunic that was far too big on him, the sleeves rolled up several times, the hem brushing his knees, and almost all of the stains washed out of it. Even so, it had been decided it couldn’t be salvaged, what with all the rips in it. It was supposed to have been burned, but Zi Se stole it and refused to take it off. It had been the Prince’s. 

Zi Se hesitated, before reaching into the inner-lining of the tunic. “I have to keep it safe.” He said quietly, pulling out a familiar pai sho tile. This one was battered compared to the pristine ones littering the White Lotus camp, but Zi Se held it like he’d sooner break his fingers than let it go. 

“Okay, okay.” Akinari said, manoeuvring the bowl in his hands to the floor without jostling his broken arm too much. “You can keep the tunic, but you gotta eat, kiddo.” 

Zi Se turned moody again. “ _No_.” 

“Zi Se-.” 

“Go away!” The kid was shouting again, face reddening. He'd been sat down, but now he jumped up, eye level with where Akinari was sat on the floor. 

“I’m not leaving you, Zi Se.” 

For whatever reason, those words made Zi Se freeze, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and then the tears that had swelled in his eyes from his anger began to fall, sliding slowly down his young face. 

“Liar.” Zi Se hissed, holding his pai sho tile to his chest. 

Akinari frowned. “Zi Se, I'm telling the truth-.” 

“So was he and _he left!_ ” Zi Se exploded, a sob wracking through him. “He told me not to trust you guys. None of you. And then he left me behind!” 

Zi Se’s little chest was heaving now, a tantrum mutating into something else, and Akinari sighed. So this was about the Prince. 

“Prince Zuko will be back, Zi Se. He promised, didn’t he?” Akinari tried, but Zi Se just shook his head, more tears falling. 

“Zuko always lies.” Zi Se mumbled, lip trembling. 

“That’s not fair-.” 

“He does!” Zi Se cried, throwing his pai sho tile to the floor angrily. “He lied about his name, and he lied about staying together, and- and he lied about _everything!_ ” 

Zi Se stomped his foot right over the pai sho tile, another sob overrunning him, before he darted out of the tent. 

“Zi Se!” Akinari called in surprise, quickly scrambling to his feet, grabbing the food as he did. He was just readying himself to run about the camp looking for the kid when he paused, relief filling him. Zi Se had sat right in front of the riverbank, knees tucked to his chest and small arms wrapped around them, head burrowed away where no one could see the tears that made his body shake. 

Tentatively, Akinari approached him, sitting beside him, giving the kid some room. For a few minutes, Akinari let Zi Se tire himself out with his anger. He had a daughter once, and she used to have tantrums like this when she was Zi Se’s age, and it was all Akinari could do to sit with her and wait them out. 

Eventually, Zi Se poked his head back up, face a firm scowl, though the effect was lost due to his puffy eyes and runny nose. 

“You’re very important to him, Zi Se.” Akinari said levelly, looking out onto the calm river. “I won’t pretend to know what he’s doing right now, but I know he’s doing it for you. Try not to be so hard on him, will you?” 

Zi Se rubbed his eyes, before nodding. “I miss him.” 

And there it was; the crux of the issue. Because Zi Se was angry with Prince Zuko, which was a mask to hide that he was sad, which was a mask to hide that he very simply _missed him_. They'd been together with no one else for four months; they didn’t know how to be separated. Zi Se didn’t know how to feel safe without the Prince by his side. 

“I know, kid.” Akinari said, smoothing down Zi Se’s hair. 

Zi Se turned to him, amber eyes wide, desperate. “Can we play Fire Lord?” 

Akinari stilled, heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t known what to expect from this conversation, but mentions of the Fire Lord from a child who should never have to speak that accursed name was not it. The Fire Lord was a tyrant who sent thousands of his own people to the slaughter simply so he could scrounge every victory he could. The Fire Lord was a heartless monster whose crown was etched in blood. The Prince and General Iroh were the last blossoms on a rotting family tree. If the Fire Nation wanted any hope of surviving Ozai’s hatred and horror, then they would do so through them and them alone. That was why Akinari was here. 

“The Fire Lord is a very bad man, Zi Se.” Akinari said, tone rough, memories full of his daughter and her death that mattered to no one but him. “You don’t want to be like him.” 

Zi Se frowned up at him, confused, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, before he nodded and looked back to the river. 

“You ready to eat now?” Akinari asked, picking the bowl back up and offering it with a coy smile. 

Reluctantly and with a quiet sniff, Zi Se nodded, and Akinari almost slumped in relief. 

Slowly, Zi Se ate. A few bites, before finally realising his hunger and clearing the bowl. Akinari watched with a faint smile. 

Zi Se was going to be okay. It was going to be hard, and it was heart-breaking to watch, but he’d be okay. 

And even though they didn’t play Fire Lord in the end, Zi Se still whispered his wish into the familiar darkness of his tent that night. It wasn’t much to ask for. All he wanted was Zuko. 

____ 

Somehow, their plan was working. Suki and Zuko walked down the corridors, and Zuko made sure his movements were purposely adroit, Suki making herself seem small and humble at his side, and every time they saw a guard, Zuko grabbed her roughly by the arm and made some excuse about the warden asking for her, and _it was working._ The only guard that tried to question them past that had wound up unconscious in an empty cell. They’d made it all the way to the ground floor, which was almost entirely barren aside a few various prisoners mopping the floor with greyed expressions. They turned a few more corners, and then Zuko froze. There, at the end of a long, empty hallway, was a set of double doors, taller than two of him. Looming, imposing, but once, beautiful. 

The old library. 

“There it is.” Zuko breathed, but he didn’t move. 

There it was. There was everything he’d run from and everything he’d run towards. His past hid behind those ornate doors, and his nightmares curled in the shadows of the room beyond. 

“Come on, before someone sees us.” Suki said, striding forward. Zuko kept his feet planted firmly in place, eyes quickly raking over the hallway for something, anything. He wasn’t looking for an excuse, but when his eyes landed on a sign above a small door that said ‘armoury’, it seemed too good to refuse. His broadsword was still stashed in the scabbard on his back, but a few extra weapons could hardly hurt. Especially not with the battle Zuko was about to face. 

“What are you doing?” Suki hissed when Zuko headed towards the armoury, expression bewildered. Zuko ignored her. His heart was racing, thundering in his ears, deafening him. 

The armoury was full of rows and rows of shelves, and stacked upon them in a disorderly mess was every weapon under Agni. Swords, knives, sickles, and dozens Zuko couldn’t even name, some collecting dust and others looking like they’d been placed here minutes before their arrival. In another time, a room like this would have been a dream come true to Zuko. He'd spend hours admiring the blades, feeling their weights, seeing how they swung. Today, he didn’t have the liberty of such a simple distraction. 

Didn't mean he didn’t try, though. 

He stepped inside, the flickering oil lamp throwing the heaps of metal around him into a sickening orange glow, and his fingers found themselves carefully tracing handles and knifepoints. These weren’t the usual weapons in an armoury. No two were the same, for starters, and each weapon, despite there being dozens, was well-loved. They had belonged to people. They had been personal, once. They had been taken. 

These belonged to the prisoners. 

It was a sick coincidence that Zuko come to that realisation at the same time his gaze was caught by a familiar broadsword, and all the air in the room seemed to suck through his teeth. As if possessed, Zuko crossed the room to his Dao, choking when he touched it and felt it cold and steady beneath his skin. It was really there. After all this time. 

And if it was here, then the man who had kept it was here, and he had held onto it despite four months of silence, and _he hadn’t forgotten_. 

“You’re stalling.” Suki said quietly, and Zuko flinched so violently that he almost knocked the damn sword over. 

Zuko didn’t respond, and Suki huffed loudly. “Zuko, we need to hurry. The moment they notice I'm out of my cell, they’ll pull the alarm, and then-.” 

Her words cut off like they’d been sliced by one of the blades surrounding them, and Zuko spun to face her, expecting the worst. Instead, he was met with Suki still stood in the doorway, face slack, eyes glazed over as they focussed on something yellow poking out amongst the mess. She shook her head once, as if expecting whatever she’d spotted to disappear, before walking forward and pulling out two fans. Zuko remembered them being the weapon of choice of the Kyoshi Warriors. 

“Suki?” Zuko tried to make his voice tentative, but it came out rough, nervous. 

They were both snapped out of it by the sound of a loud squelch coming from the hallway, followed by a low grumble. Zuko looked to Suki and they shared a quiet conversation in the silence between them. It reminded Zuko a little of how him and Sokka had communicated. When everything else failed, they were both still soldiers in some sense, and they were both teenagers, and sometimes, that was enough common ground to keep them alive. 

Fans in a familiar grip, Suki stalked forward. Zuko hesitated a single second before shouldering off his scabbard and uniting his Dao swords as one. He watched them slot together, watched them become a single blade, and he tried not to feel like he was betraying that. Swallowing his unease, Zuko copied Suki’s prowl towards the door. 

Suki counted down with her fingers, the thickness of the air being broken up only by whatever that strange squelching noise was, and then they both leapt out into the hallway, respective weapons raised and pointed at... 

A prisoner. 

A _big_ prisoner. The man was huge, towering over the both of them, all the proportions of Chena except with black hair and yellow eyes that screamed Fire Nation. Suki bristled uncertainly, but Zuko knew he could take him _without_ two broadswords to help. This would be easy. 

The prisoner pointed the mop he was holding – the source of the strange noise – at Suki and Zuko accusingly. 

“No one else is supposed to be down this hall.” He grit out, bemused. 

Zuko remembered he was supposed to be a guard, and let a scowl twist his face. “So you’re unsupervised?” 

“ _No_.” The prisoner hissed. “I’ve got a guard on me... somewhere.” He frowned, as if only now realising that he didn’t have a guard on him. Zuko remembered the guard him and Suki had shoved into an empty cell and tried not to throw an incriminating glance her way. 

“Hey, what were you two doing in the armoury?” The prisoner continued, growing more confused by the second. That was when he noted Zuko’s unusual, non-prison issued weapon, and Zuko’s ill-fitting uniform, and how Suki seemed far too relaxed for someone alone with a Boiling Rock guard. 

The prisoner narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t no guard.” 

Zuko took a threatening step forward, but Suki yanked him back. 

“Hear us out,” she hissed, staring her fellow prisoner down, “you’re Chit Sang, right? I've done chores with you before. You're strong, you could help us. We're trying to break out of here. You can either join us, or you can snitch and get us all locked up again. What do you say?” 

Zuko watched the man, Chit Sang, nervously, hand ready to dash to his broadswords at a moment's notice. Chit Sang thought for a few seconds, expression going through the motions, looking at Zuko with contempt and Suki with consideration, before settling on something determined. 

“I got some friends; I'm not leaving without them.” He said, and Zuko groaned. 

“Are you fucking kidding-?” 

“That’s fine.” Suki cut in diplomatically, elbowing Zuko in the ribs, which would normally be a simple chastising move, but for someone with very bruised ribs, it was agonising and winded Zuko for a few seconds. “We’re meeting in the old library, down there. Bring them. But hurry, we aren’t going to wait around.” 

Chit Sang nodded, before grabbing the bucket he was using to mop and going to hurry away. 

“Wait!” Suki called after him, and the big prisoner stopped, throwing a glare to Zuko. 

“What?” Chit Sang asked. Suki looked sheepish, which even Zuko knew wasn’t an expression she wore often. 

“Do you know if any other Earth Kingdomers are here? The Kyoshi Warriors?” She asked quietly, and Zuko swallowed the human instinct to feel bad. Too many people were becoming embroiled in this. He couldn’t let their feelings and mundanities distract him from what he had to do. 

Chit Sang frowned. “An Earth Kingdom guy was brought in this morning, but I haven’t heard nothing about any Kyoshi Warriors. Sorry, kid.” 

“An Earth Kingdom guy?” Zuko asked, everything around him suddenly feeling far away. He couldn’t feel Suki beside him, and he could barely focus on Chit Sang before him. He smelt blood, saw metal walls dripping shadows, heard the nightmarish crack of bones as Chan readied himself to tear Zuko apart, the two of them reduced to animalistic shreds of their former selves. 

“Yeah, some General. Powerful bender. Why, you think he could help?” Chit Sang said, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. 

“Well, the lower floors of the Boiling Rock were built with earth before everything converted to metal.” Zuko said factually, before smiling. “It wouldn’t hurt to have an earthbender.” 

Suki was staring at him, but Zuko didn’t care. It was almost funny to him now, that he had feared having his mind swayed. These people around him were nothing more than obstacles and Zuko had been jumping hoops since he was born. It was so fucking funny for anyone to think they could stop him. Because now, Fong was close, and Chit Sang was going to walk him straight to him. 

And just like that, it would all be over. 

____ 

"So where’s Bato? Where's everyone else from the invasion?” Sokka asked, checking no one had seen him enter his dad’s cell before turning to Hakoda. 

“The others are being held at Shuhon Prison. It's on an island close to the capital.” Hakoda said, before scowling. “I was singled out as the leader and sent here.” 

Sokka shouldn’t have grinned upon finding out the Water Tribe warriors were in Shuhon Prison, because as a general statement, that was horrible news. He couldn’t, however, hide his joy at the fact he’d managed to figure it out back in his secret lair with no help other than a roomful of parchment and his good old brain that had been, up until now, not very good. 

“It doesn’t matter now.” Sokka said, determined as he came to sit beside Hakoda on the matt, “I’m gonna get us out of here. I have help. Suki's here, she’s the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, and-.” 

Sokka cut himself off, smile fading. _And Zuko_ , was left unsaid, because Zuko was a heavily-connotated word. How did he tell his dad about the truce they’d made? How did he tell his dad about his own insecurities causing him to enlist Zuko’s help? How did he tell his dad that he had no proof of Zuko being trustworthy yet had still worked beside him anyway? It sounded so stupid, because Hakoda hadn’t been there. It wasn’t something that could be explained. 

“And?” Hakoda asked, frowning. 

“And someone else, this guy I know. It's a long story.” Sokka settled with that. 

“Good,” Hakoda clasped Sokka’s shoulder, “we’ll need all the help we can get.” 

Sokka still wasn’t convinced. He’d been the one to trust Zuko, but that was only because, at the time, his was the only life on the line. Now, that decision affected Suki and his dad. Sokka had let Zuko go off after Suki _alone_. She could take care of herself, of course, but Sokka couldn’t shrug the phantom kiss on his lips, the weak touch to his wrist. He lost Yue; he couldn’t lose anyone else. 

“Sokka, I trust you.” Hakoda said, gaze imploring, and Sokka turned rigid beneath his father’s touch, eyes wide. “Whatever happens, there’s no prison in the world that can hold two Water Tribe geniuses.” 

Sokka swallowed, before smiling weakly. “Then we better find two.” 

And his father laughed, and for a second, it was like everything was alright, like everything wasn’t awful and dangerous. 

“First things first.” Sokka said, turning serious. “We need to get to the library on the ground floor.” 

Hakoda contemplated that a moment, before shrugging. “How hard can that be?” 

It wasn’t hard at all. Hakoda and Sokka were the first there, and Sokka couldn’t help but let out an impressed whistle as the double doors shut behind them. The library was a gargantuan space, a maze of towering bookshelves that had long been blanketed in a thick layer of dust, sandstone walls concaving into a domed ceiling. The ceiling was covered in a beautiful mural, painted in wine reds, mulberry purples, honey golds. The only light came from two sliding glass doors on the opposite wall, allowing daylight to flood inside, but Sokka could just make out the faded painted images. 

Dragons. 

This room felt ancient, felt out of place in the industrial Fire Nation and metal prison. It had been abandoned for a very long time, and Sokka found himself shivering, despite being perfectly warm. 

“I’ll light a torch.” Hakoda said, but before he could move, an eerily familiar humming noise sounded from the glass doors. Sokka could just make out that the doors led to a platform; maybe some old landing point for transport? The noise was getting louder, and Hakoda threw a nervous glance to Sokka before they both gravitated into a combative stance. Had they been caught? 

As quickly as it had started, the noise ended. For a few more seconds, Hakoda and Sokka looked between each other and the doors, confused, ready for anything. But nothing came. 

“Maybe we imagined it?” Hakoda tried, though despite his teasing tone, his eyes were narrowed, shoulders tensed. 

Sokka hummed a muffled ‘I dunno’, returning to finding a torch for his dad to light. They didn’t have time to be paranoid, and Sokka’s instincts told him everything was alright for now. And really, when had his instincts ever let him down? 

(He pointedly ignored all thoughts about the Day of Black Sun.) 

Sokka collected three torches from around the library, hidden beneath old tapestries and gross cobwebs, and returned to where his dad was flicking through some books. 

“Anything interesting?” Sokka asked. 

“Nothing we can use. They're all specifically here for prisoners.” Hakoda said, before holding up a book when a grin. “Redeeming Yourself 101: The Fire Nation Guide.” 

Sokka snorted out a laugh, but it was cut short by the sound of _something_. 

Something coming from those damned glass doors again. 

“It sounds like...” Hakoda whispered, frowning. 

Sokka strained to hear. “ _Bickering?_ ” 

Yep, he could hear bickering. Two voices, snapping back and forth, and something splashing. They were on the ground floor, which meant the boiling lake was right outside those doors, but it’s not like someone was swimming it. That was a tiny bit fatal. So what was going on? 

For the first time, the universe decided to answer Sokka’s questions. 

“That was the worst experience of my life.” 

“Please, Kanut, the war balloon was not that bad.” 

“My feet are never leaving the ground ever again, on Tui, on La, and even on Agni.” 

“Do not bring Agni into this-.” 

The voice cut itself off as two men casually broke open the glass doors, walking into the library and freezing the moment they saw Hakoda and Sokka’s dumbfounded expressions. 

“Kanut?” Hakoda asked, a joyous laugh barking from him. 

“Iroh?” Sokka squeaked, jaw slack upon seeing the old General. 

Iroh chuckled, his grey hair neatly framing his kind face, and Kanut lumbered up beside him, all Water Tribe blues and a quick smirk and _relief_. 

“How are you here?” Hakoda asked, still wide-eyed. 

Kanut shrugged. “Well, we flew here on that flying death trap, and then Iroh crashed it-.” 

“I did not crash it. I simply landed prematurely.” 

“You landed prematurely on _the wrong side of the lake_.” 

“Well, lucky for us there was a boat.” 

“Lucky for _you_ , because you didn’t have to row.” 

Iroh held his hands up, feigning innocence. “I am a senile old man. My joints simply do not allow it.” 

It sounded like an argument they’d had before, given Kanut’s groan, and Sokka could barely tear his eyes away. How did those two even know each other? Iroh of the Fire Nation and Kanut of the Water Tribe, and they were _here_ , in the _Boiling Rock_ , _bickering_. 

Kanut must have heard Sokka and Hakoda’s deafeningly loud mental confusion, because he turned to them with a smug smirk. 

“It’s a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look! another cliffhanger! sorry BUT in my defence, next chapter is The Big One. like i'd say it's the most important chapter of taob so far, which means it's going to be LONG so strap in babies and bring your therapists <333


	27. ii. Meanwhile, In Shuhon Prison (BONUS CHAPTER)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is literally not at all relevant to the plot; it's just fun times.
> 
> To clarify, I will be posting ch28 for next saturday as scheduled, so see you then ;) (holy fuck it’ll be 2021? Thank god. Im gonna beat 2020 with a fucking stick hold on-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis the season of giving and this is my gift for you stupid tossers who I have reluctantly wound up loving with every inch of my shrivelled up heart <3 happy holidays and happy new year and all that jazz. This is a mix of me thinking ‘hm wouldn’t this be a nice little present’ and 'hmm I refuse to write angst over christmas.’ This is NOT the Big Chapter I was referring to in the previous a*thor’s n*tes because I honestly came up with this idea on a whim and was egged on by the fuckers on tumblr (who gave me a lot of the ideas for this so thank you how does it feel being the crème de la crème of the idiots?) so yeah NEXT chapter is gonna be The Big One and i mean it this time, but for now, enjoy these morons finessing Shuhon Prison xxx

Shuhon Prison was arranged around a large square courtyard where prisoners were allowed to socialise and participate in activities relating to fitness and wellbeing. Closing the courtyard in were four imposing walls; a line of cells for the male prisoners, a line of cells for the female prisoners, the large gate heralding the prison’s only entrance (and exit), and finally, a wall making up part of the body of the main buildings. It was simple, logical, and all in all, Aput decided, not the _worst_ prison they could have found themselves in. 

Chena, however, still had it in him to complain. Loudly. 

“Stupid fucking Fire Nation with their stupid fucking cells and their stupid fucking-…. Fucking-... Shit, what even is this?” He cursed, before the sound of a large boot coming into contact with something hard and distinctly metal filled the corridor, followed by another round of cursing. 

“Did he just kick the basin?” Aput asked, lips curling up. 

Tulok’s response was muffled, head presumably in his hands; “Spirits, help us.” 

They were each in separate cells, side by side but unable to see each other. An entire wall of Aput’s cell looked out onto the courtyard through floor to ceiling bars. He could see the line of cells belonging to the women a good thirty yards opposite, the thick bars of their cells running along the length of the sandy courtyard that sat littered with various gym equipment. Aput could see individual prisoners, see women sat with their back to the far wall like him, or women pacing their cells, or one woman who looked more like a girl, directly opposite him, who was waving her hand, head turned towards the cell to Aput’s left. 

“Tulok,” Aput said with a sigh. “are you waving?” 

There was a moment of hesitation before Tulok mumbled an unconvincing; “... No.” 

“We’re in prison, are you seriously trying to make friends?” Bato asked from the cell to Aput’s right, signalling the end of his little strike. Him and Chena had started off their imprisonment arguing with one another about what to do next. Bato favoured finding a smart escape plan. Chena favoured knocking out everything with a pulse and making a break for it. Aput and Tulok were in the cells between the two men, and endured their shouting match until Bato entered a moody strike in which he refused to talk to Chena. It was petty, but Bato was good at petty. 

“She looks like a kid.” Tulok said, somewhat bashful, and Aput found himself, like he had countless times before, cursing Tulok’s soft side. It would do them no favours in a place like this. 

Aput's eye was caught by movement across the courtyard, and he looked up to see that the girl Tulok had waved at was standing now, head pressed against the bars as if she was trying to see into the cell beside her. There was another girl there, short, young, and she looked in the direction of her neighbour a moment, before her head snapped towards the Water Tribe men. 

“Tulok, would you stop fucking waving?” Chena snapped when the first girl waved again. 

“I think they’re scared. We should help them.” Tulok said, no longer trying to hide his concern. 

“Would like to reiterate the fact that we’re in a prison.” Bato said silkily. “Do with that what you will, but I just felt the need to point it out again. There are _some_ members of this party who seem to have forgotten.” 

“Is that a dig at me?” Chena snarled, and even through two walls, Aput tensed. “Because _I'm_ not the fucker trying to adopt another teenager.” 

A second of silence passed. A held breath. That _‘another’_ thickened the air and even Bato learnt not to comment on these little slip ups anymore. He learnt the hard way, but he learnt. 

Tulok managed to push past it with a moody; “I’m not _adopting_ anyone; I just think we should make sure they’re okay.” 

Chena swore. Aput rolled his eyes. Bato scoffed. Tulok definitely waved again. The girl waved back. 

And then the girl she’d spoken to earlier caught sight of something, pointing in the general direction of Chena’s cell. 

To Aput’s delight and Bato’s subsequent roaring laughter, the girl flipped Chena off. 

“What the fuck?” Chena spluttered, finally at a loss for words. 

“Chena!” Tulok gasped. 

“I didn’t do anything!” Chena yelled, knocking against the wall separating him and Tulok as if to prove a point. 

“Why do I not believe you?” Aput asked, shaking his head. 

They were saved from another argument when the sharp ringing of a prison bell pierced the air, and the prisoners were allowed into the courtyard for a few hours. Aput wasn’t sure how he felt about being a prisoner. The rest of the Water Tribe warriors from the invasion were in the prison, which meant he could keep tabs on his own men, but Tomkin and Nanook had left with the kids, and Hakoda and Kanut had been separated from them. Four members usually so _present_ , gone. Shuhon wasn’t too bad, and things could have turned out a lot worse, but it still felt so... so _wrong_. 

Bato was Hakoda's Second, but Aput had always quietly kept his family together from the side-lines. He'd make this prison work for him. Until they figured a way out, he’d make it work. 

____ 

Bato was trying to keep everyone in check, but Aput was making it very hard when, on only their second day since coming to Shuhon Prison, he revealed he’d started a gambling ring. 

“It’s pretty simple.” Aput shrugged as the two men shaded from the relentless Fire Nation heat while out in the courtyard that day. “One of the guards left a deck of cards out, and I took them and said I got them from the commissary. I learnt how to play quite a few different games with these back when we were going around the Earth Kingdom. All I gotta do is play against the other prisoners and bet a couple copper pieces that I'll win.” 

Bato blinked dumbly, unsettled by Aput’s evil smile and nonchalant shrug. The logic of it was sound; prisoners at Shuhon were able to make money by doing chores, and then spend it on luxuries at the commissary. But that still left one major risk; 

“And if you don’t win?” Bato asked, tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration – or at least to be dramatic - but stopping himself. He was having a bad day. He did _not_ need the reminder of what Chena had done to his beautiful nose. 

Aput held his gaze, evil smile growing with every second of silence, before Bato gasped. 

“It’s rigged.” Bato hissed, earning a shove to the shoulder to shut him up. 

“Hey, I just shuffle the cards.” Aput said innocently, as if him shuffling the cards wasn’t the problem, before pulling out a handful of coins from his pocket, “works every time.” 

As the Second and leader in Hakoda’s absence, Bato ought to tell Aput how irresponsible he was being and how he would get them all in trouble with the kind of people they didn’t want trouble off. 

As Bato, however, he wanted _in_. 

“Give me some of that. They're selling face creams at the commissary and I want some.” Bato said, reaching to grab some money. 

Aput jerked his hand away, affronted. “Absolutely not.” 

Bato raised an eyebrow. “Give me some, and I'll get Tulok off your back.” 

“Tulok doesn’t even know.” Aput said smugly, before his smile fell, as if reading Bato’s mind. “You wouldn’t dare-.” 

“Tulok!” Bato yelled, running before Aput could catch him. 

____ 

Tulok was furious, and said that stealing from their fellow prisoners would create bad blood and wasn’t worth whatever goods Aput could immorally obtain. Tulok was furious, that is, until Bato gifted him some particularly nice soaps he bought from the commissary with Aput’s immorally obtained money. After that, Tulok turned a blind eye. 

Within a few days, Aput and Bato became the business tycoons of Shuhon Prison, and Tulok smelled better than ever. 

Chena, however, was focussed on more pressing matters. 

____ 

“Do you have to do that here? You're blocking my sun.” Bato whined from where he sat in the sand, leaning back on his palms. 

“I’m not moving the equipment because of your shallow agenda.” Chena hissed through pants, muscles coiling and releasing with each weight he lifted. Even shirtless, he was unbearably hot. How anyone could live in this accursed nation was beyond him. Still, he had to keep up his fitness. Not only because he was a warrior and it was important for warriors to be in pristine shape, but because he was strong, a _threat_ , and he needed every fucker in this shithole to know it. 

“Ugh, fine.” Bato said, throwing up his hands in defeat as he stood up. “But know I’m moving because you’re sweaty and gross, not because I gave in.” 

Chena grinned, kicking Bato’s leg as he walked past. “Sounds like a sore loser to me.” 

Without Bato’s whinging to distract him, Chena got sucked into his workout, tuning out of the quiet everyday life of the prison that he was getting more and more accustomed to with each dragging day. He didn’t like to get in his thoughts like this, but with nothing but the burn of his muscles to distract him, it was inevitable. The Water Tribe warriors had been fragmented after the invasion. The kids got away, the main bulk of their men got sent here, and no one had a fucking clue where Hakoda or Kanut were. And until they knew more, they were trapped here, desperately trying to think of some plan to escape, which wouldn’t happen because Bato was good at politics and Chena was good at force and _neither_ of them were good at tactics, because Hakoda did that shit. But Hakoda wasn’t fucking _here_ -. 

Chena was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and he turned slightly to see someone joining him by the equipment. 

The girl was young, no older than fifteen, with impossibly short brown hair that curled around her ears, and she wore a sleeveless tunic, Earth Kingdom, though her eyes were enough to give her away. A violent green, glaring at Chena like he’d just personally insulted her. Their aggression was jarring next to her round face, or her freckles, or her height, or anything else about her that screamed that she was, regardless of their surroundings, a little girl. 

She was also the girl that flipped him off, and Chena glared. Chena didn’t like this girl; pity was Tulok’s department. 

The Earth Kingdom girl picked up a weight she was definitely too small to lift, and proceeded to lift it effortlessly. Chena was mature enough not to start a competition with a child, but if he lifted the next weight up to prove a point, then that was his business. 

The girl responded in turn. 

Chena matched her. 

The sun inched across the sky and saw the two of them sweating and hissing through their teeth as they lifted weight after agonising weight. The girl was struggling more than Chena; she was half his size and _logically_ should have paled against his muscle mass. But that didn’t mean Chena wasn’t struggling too, as much as it pained him to admit it. She was just fucking relentless, pushing on through spite alone. She was going to hurt herself if she kept this idiocy up. 

As she reached shakily for the next weight, Chena snapped. 

“Would you fucking cut it out?” He snarled, and she turned to face him. Somehow, despite her short hair now standing in messy spikes and her pale skin flushed a deep red, she still had the energy to look _smug_ , like she’d _won_. She hadn’t fucking won. 

“What’s wrong, big guy? You struggling?” She hissed, her words clipped and sharp, green eyes as cutting as the beginning. At least she was consistent. 

“ _Please_.” Chena scoffed. “Don’t hurt yourself on these, sweetheart. They put the weights here for the _men_.” 

The girl’s mouth fell open, rage flashing over her face, and the next thing Chena knew, she was being yanked forcibly back by two other girls, cursing Chena with every word a little girl ought not to know, seeming fully intent on beating the shit out of him. 

“Kayda!” One of her friends shouted at her, hauling her back. “Cut it out!” 

“Come on, babe, he’s not worth it.” The third girl said from the brat’s- _Kayda’s_ other side 

“Spirits, Chena,” Tulok groaned, jogging to Chena’s side upon hearing the commotion, “did you just square up to a _teenager?_ ” 

The _again_ was left unsaid. 

“She fucking started it!” Chena said, pointing accusingly at Kayda, who had composed herself enough to yank her arms loose from the hold her friends had on her. If looks could kill, Chena was sure he’d be dead. 

“This isn’t over, asshole.” Kayda snarled, before storming away, followed hastily by the two other girls. 

Chena just stared, stunned. “Tui and La,” he growled to himself, “what the fuck are they feeding kids these days.” 

____ 

Ever since that first day, Tulok had kept an eye on the girl who waved at him, as well as her two friends. Their group consisted of three teenage girls, and they stayed vehemently together at all times. Tulok had been happy to just quietly observe them, making sure they were eating alright and not being met with any trouble, but then the incident with Chena happened, and Tulok realised that these girls might _be_ the trouble in question. Or at least that Kayda girl. 

Regardless, Tulok knew how Chena could be, and knew Chena would claim he didn’t start it no matter what happened. So the next morning when the prisoners were allowed out into the courtyard for the day, Tulok tentatively approached where the three girls tended to sit in the far corner of the yard, rehearsing an apology in his head. 

The closer he walked, the clearer he could see them. 

Kayda was a freckled, tough-looking girl, the smallest of the three but with a temper to compensate, and was leaning against the wall, green eyes locking on Tulok the moment he started making his way towards them. Sat at her feet, back pressed to Kayda’s legs and with Kayda absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair, was the girl who waved at Tulok. She was tall, all gangly, teenage limbs that she hadn’t quite grown into yet, and was almost always smiling, her hair a pretty auburn that fell to her hips. She was the last to notice Tulok’s approach, but her face lit up when she did; the picture of friendliness despite the mean-looking girl directly behind her. 

The third and final girl was the eldest, but only then looked around sixteen. There was something steady in her green gaze, something logical, smart, observant, and everything about her was put-together, from her sharp face to her dark brown hair pulled back into a neat, intricate braid. She was sat opposite the cheerful girl, and appeared to be doing something with a piece of paper, head snapping up when she heard footsteps. 

“Hello.” The smiling girl chirped as soon as Tulok stopped before them. 

“Can we help you?” The girl with the braid asked, her voice deep and betraying nothing. Kayda continued to glare, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Tulok smiled softly. “I’d just like to apologise for my friend’s behaviour yesterday. Chena means well, but he can be an idiot.” 

“No kidding.” Kayda mumbled, earning a sharp glare from the dark-haired girl. 

She considered him a moment, pushing her braid over her shoulder, before allowing a small smile. 

“Apology accepted. Kayda’s much the same. The only reason I didn’t come apologise too is because it actually sounds like she was in the right this time.” The girl teased, though there was a slight edge to her words. 

“I’m always right.” 

The girl at Kayda’s feet giggled, looking up. “Come on, Kay, let this one go.” 

Kayda seemed to melt under the other girl’s gaze, working her jaw before rolling her eyes and letting out a grumbled; “ _Fine_.” 

“You can sit, if you want.” The girl who waved said, and Tulok smiled gratefully, sitting cross-legged beside the dark-haired girl. He saw the paper she’d been fiddling with had been folded in all manner of strange ways, and felt his curiosity spike. 

“I’m Keiko.” The happy girl grinned. “You already know Kayda,” Kayda jutted out her chin as if challenging Tulok, “and this is Aneko.” The dark-haired girl, Aneko, nodded in greeting, making Keiko laugh, cupping her mouth as if sharing a secret, whispering; “She's very serious.” 

“I believe you mean _sensible_.” Aneko corrected, lips quirked up in a small smile. 

“Oh really?” Kayda questioned, tone somewhat bitter. “Is it _sensible_ to stop me from getting a prison tattoo?” 

Aneko rubbed her temples tiredly. “ _Yes_. And for the last time, I am not giving you a needle so you can ink yourself up and tell everyone you got a prison tattoo.” 

Kayda glared, before huffing angrily, uttering a moody; “I hate this fucking family.” 

“Family?” Tulok asked. “You’re sisters?” 

“In a sense.” Keiko grinned. “Not biologically, otherwise this might be a little awkward.” She beamed up at Kayda, fingers brushing her thigh. “Wouldn’t it, my love?” 

“You didn’t tell us your name.” Aneko said, seemingly used to wrangling back the conversation. Tulok knew the feeling, and smiled. 

“I’m Tulok, it’s lovely to meet you all.” Tulok said earnestly. “You’re Earth Kingdom?” 

Keiko nodded, grinning proudly. “Yep, we’re Kyoshi Warriors.” 

Tulok didn’t want to be rude, but Aneko only let out a gentle chuckle at the blank expression on his face. 

“The Kyoshi Warriors are a band of trained female warriors charged with protecting Kyoshi Island.” Aneko explained, and Tulok felt his eyes widen in equal parts respect and surprise. Respect, because they were warriors like him. And surprise, because they were, well... _female_ warriors. 

But he’d travelled the Earth Kingdom somewhat since leaving for the war, and he knew their nation did things differently than what he knew, and there was a tension in Kayda’s glare and Aneko’s silence that said they were waiting for him to make the same mistake Chena did. 

Tulok just nodded. “That’s very impressive.” He said. “I’m a warrior too, of the Southern Water Tribe.” 

“Like Sokka!” Keiko gasped in delight. 

“You know Sokka?” Tulok asked, remembering the loud, witty kid on the Ullaakut before the Avatar left, before the invasion, before everything went _wrong_. 

“He travelled with the Avatar to our island a few months ago.” Aneko said, a warm smile on her face. 

“Suki had to teach him some respect too.” Kayda said, throwing a threatening glance to where Chena was bickering with Bato on the other side of the courtyard. 

“Suki?” Tulok asked, and felt the atmosphere palpably drop. 

“Our leader.” Keiko said, looking dejectedly at her hands. “She was taken separate to us, when we were arrested.” 

“We don’t know where she is.” Aneko added, reaching over and placing a comforting hand to Keiko’s leg. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Kayda snapped. “Suki’s strong. She's the best of us. She’ll be okay, and so will we.” 

At first, Tulok had thought it strange that these girls, so incontestably different in temperament, were clearly such close friends, but he understood now. Keiko was the heart that kept the trio true. Aneko was the brain that kept them grounded. And Kayda was the strength, the muscle, that kept them honest. When one pulled, the other two pushed. When one turned left, the other two jumped right. No bases left uncovered. No back left unprotected. This was what it meant to work in harmony, and Tulok couldn’t help but look over at his friends. Chena and Aput were roughhousing like idiots, Bato laughing loudly when Chena almost fell over, and he thought of the Chief’s easy smile and Kanut’s dry wit, Tomkin’s horrendous pranks and Nanook’s steady presence, and they could all be so ridiculous sometimes, but they were Tulok’s family. He'd followed them to war, to battle, to enemy territory, and one day, he would follow them home. 

“Our leader was separated from us too.” Tulok said, and Aneko’s gaze widened. “But I have faith in him. He's smart, strong.” Tulok grinned fiercely. “There's not a cell in the world that could keep the Chief contained.” 

Aneko watched him for a few seconds, as if she’d suddenly found something interesting, before she smiled a kind smile, picking up the folded paper before her. 

“Tulok,” she said, “have you ever made origami?” 

Tulok frowned, intrigued. “I can’t say I have, no.” 

Aneko’s smile widened. “I’ll teach you.” 

____ 

The end of the tribesmen's first week in prison saw them sat in the canteen with the Kyoshi Warriors. Tulok had spent more and more time with them, telling Aput about the ever-calm Aneko, as the two of them would pass hours in comfortable silence folding paper into beautiful shapes; diamonds and crane-swans and even a shuriken once. Keiko had welcomed the prospect of new friends, and had immediately hit it off with Bato when he traded one of his precious face creams for one of her many hair ribbons. Kayda was reluctant, but went where her friends went. Chena was the same, and it saw the two of them glaring at each other over the rickety metal table. 

Aput wouldn’t have gone out of his way to include the young girls as Tulok had, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed. This was no place for kids, and it was nice to be able to keep an eye on them. 

“How’s business?” Tulok asked Aput, quirking a knowing brow, the hum of the loud canteen almost drowning the shorter man out. 

Aput grinned, feeling the coins heavy in his pocket. “Booming.” 

“Who knew we’d thrive in prison, eh?” Bato elbowed Aput with a laugh, and Aput couldn’t help but chuckle. No matter how many times he bested the other prisoners at cards, they still came back, each time with more determination and, of course, more money. 

“I reckon I could win a game.” Kayda decided with a proud jerk of her chin. 

Chena’s curling smile was evil. “I agree. Aput, you should play Kayda.” 

Aput pulled a face, kicking Chena under the table, expression his usual ‘stop being a dick’ that Chena often had thrown his way. 

“What’s this about?” Keiko asked, smiling innocently but a little confused as she looked between the two men. 

Bato, who had a soft spot for the cheerful girl, lowered his voice conspiringly. "Aput rigs the games. That's how we keep winning.” 

Keiko gasped, covering her mouth to hide her giggle. 

“Sooner or later, that will probably come back to bite you.” Aneko noted, no judgement in her voice, only observation. 

“Sooner, rather than later.” 

Aput tensed, following Tulok’s narrowed gaze, not liking his suddenly cautious tone, and he tracked his blue stare all the way to two of the other prisoners, walking towards them from the other side of the canteen. They were regulars at Aput’s card games. Burly men with ugly faces and ugly tempers, hellbent on winning. 

“Shit.” Aput hissed beneath his breath. 

“Abort, abort, abort-.” Bato said quickly, pushing to his feet only to be yanked down again by Aput. 

“Absolutely not.” Aput said, still with a firm grip on Bato’s arm. “You don't get to abandon me now.” 

“Of course not!” Bato smiled charmingly, sickeningly false. “We’re warriors, _brothers_. My loyalty is undying.” 

“Gentlemen!” One of the large prisoners boomed, stopping before them, a small smile on his face. “We were wondering if we could have a little,” he cracked his knuckles, “ _chat_.” 

Bato looked to Aput. Aput shook his head violently. Bato shrugged, not even trying to look apologetic, before grabbing Chena’s arm and using it as a shield; “It was Aput’s idea! He’s the one who rigs the games!” 

The entire canteen silenced, tension thickening the air and pushing down upon Aput as he stared at the twisting expressions of the two prisoners before him. Rage was immediate, but before it, there was a flicker of confusion, and Aput realised that _they hadn’t known about the cards_. 

Spirits, Aput was going to _kill_ Bato. 

“You’ve been cheating us?” One of the men finally snarled, and Aput raised his hands placatingly. 

“Now, now, fellas, let’s be mature about this.” Aput tried, but he could almost taste their anger. 

He just had time to jump from his seat, leaping atop the table, before a fist swung his way, and he was ready for a fight by then, accepting his fate, accepting the ‘I told you so’ from Tulok he’d receive later, but just as the prisoner regathered himself, shifting his stance into something more stable, Aput heard something move behind him, and suddenly, Kayda was stood up on the table with him. 

A pie was hurled at the big prisoner’s face, splattering down his chest. 

Kayda’s grin was manic, eyes rabid, and there was a moment of infinite silence broken only by the sound of pie slopping to the floor, before Kayda lifted her hands to cup her mouth and hollered; “ _FOOD FIGHT!_ ” 

And just like that, the canteen descended into chaos. 

____ 

Chena was the first to move. It didn’t even matter that the call to action came from that brat Kayda; he’d been needing to release his frustrations for _days_. Whether it be through snapping at the stupid Kyoshi Warrior or hurling jook at anything with a pulse, Chena was game. He grabbed handfuls of food from now abandoned trays, the prisoners around him attacking one another with the vehemence of a true fight, and threw it at anyone unlucky enough to move within his line of sight, all the while desperately avoiding getting caught in the messy crossfire. The guards shouted and scurried around like ant-flies, but the prisoners outnumbered them, too busy laughing and wiping dripping food from their faces to notice the increasing panic of the Fire Nation. 

There were beans sliding down Chena’s cheek and his fingers were coated in a disgusting mixture of all the foods he’d grabbed, and he lost sight of Tulok almost immediately but he could see Aput and Bato laughing as they pummelled each other with those hideous ‘fire flakes’ - which ironically had been awarded the prisoners for _good behaviour_. 

Chena grabbed a handful of rice and threw it directly into the face of a man charging at him, scoffing in satisfaction when it hit home, the man ducking dramatically to the side to reveal Keiko. She was stood a few metres away from Chena, and he instinctively felt the need to run to her. She was such a cheerful little girl; she’d need protecting. But there she stood in the middle of the chaos, and Chena clocked after a moment that she didn’t have a single crumb on her. 

“Babe, look!” Keiko smiled innocently, looking to where Kayda had a prisoner in a headlock, mushing figs into his hair. Without hesitation or mercy, Keiko, still smiling, slammed an entire roasted duck onto a man’s head. 

Kayda laughed loudly. “Look at you!” 

She was so distracted by her girlfriend’s slightly terrifying antics that she didn’t see the woman running at her from the other side of the canteen. Chena felt like he was watching it unfold in slow motion. The woman – clearly with a personal grudge if her battle cry was anything to go by – sprinted through the flying food and shouting guards, grabbing a teapot from the nearest table, sloshing it down herself in her hurry. Kayda, oblivious, was still smiling at Keiko. 

The entire pot of now cold tea was poured over her, and for a moment, she froze. Tea-sodden hair stuck to her cheeks, eyes slammed shut and mouth open in a gasp, before she turned on the woman, lip curling in a snarl. 

Chena didn’t like Kayda. 

Chena didn’t even like tea. 

But Kanut did, and Kanut had been taken away from them, and Kanut was suddenly all Chena could picture, and Kanut would see this as a _travesty_. 

Chena couldn’t name the sudden searing rage he felt in that moment. All he knew was a single, simple thought: 

What a waste of good fucking tea. 

Chena closed the distance between him and the woman before chucking a whole bowl of some weird Fire Nation soup at her, grinning victoriously as it completely drenched her. Kayda barked out a surprised laugh, looking to Chena first giddily, but then cautiously. 

“For Kanut.” Chena nodded. 

Kayda smiled politely, clapping a hand to Chena’s arm. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” 

They were being circled by the other prisoners now, singled out as a consequence of pissing everyone off with their aggression, and Chena realised all too late that he’d run out of ammunition. All the food nearby had been scrounged and launched, leaving him in the sodden aftermath; defenceless. 

Defenceless, but for Kayda at his side. 

Their eyes met, reluctant understanding filling them. 

“I still don’t fucking like you.” Chena said. 

Kayda nodded. “The feeling is mutual.” 

With that made abundantly clear, they truced, turning towards their fellow prisoners who suddenly looked a lot less sure about their line of attack. Unified, they charged. 

Kayda was quick, using her small size and deceiving muscle to twist and duck and lunge, manipulating clearly combative moves into less damaging ones. Chena was more about force, using brute strength and his own body as a battering ram. Between the two of them, they were unstoppable, raining food and evil laughter upon any prisoner who dared get in their way. 

“You know,” Chena panted, “we make a pretty good team.” 

“Let me guess,” Kayda said, shaking out her now curling hair, “I’m tough for such a helpless little girl?” 

Chena rolled his eyes, but felt something settle in his chest. Truth be told, the ways of his village were not the ways of the world, and he knew that. He didn’t think that made them wrong, but he wasn’t ignorant enough to expect women everywhere to fit into his categories. The comment he made to Kayda when they first met was rude, and condescending, and she had every right to be angry with him. He realised that now, and when they weren’t in danger of being murdered with a fruit tart, Chena would try to apologise. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t made that comment because Kayda _was_ a little girl. 

He made that comment because she would be about the same age as _his_ little girl, and he liked to think his daughter was going to take after him, in his stupid pigheaded ways and punch-first-question-later attitude. Kayda was... too much, at first. Too much of the baby he never got to see grow into a little girl. 

But if he couldn’t have one, he supposed siding with another during a food fight in a Fire Nation prison was an alright second option. 

____ 

“This is all your fault!” Aput yelled, throwing noodles at Bato. 

“How was I supposed to know they only wanted to ask about Chena’s workout routine?!” Bato shouted back, desperately ducking away, using his hands to shield his face as much as possible. 

“ _‘My loyalty is undying’_ , what the fuck was that?” Aput snarled, but he was trying not to smile, and Bato was laughing, and Aput’s smile only grew when he saw an untouched dish of peanut sauce. 

Bato followed his gaze, eyes widening when he spotted the weapon. 

“No.” He said, holding up his finger, as if that would stop the now advancing Aput. “No, do not. That's too far. There are lines that men do not cross with each other and this is one of them. Aput? Aput-?!” 

His cry for mercy was cut off by Aput tackling him to the ground, smearing sauce all over his face as his fellow warrior screamed and swore and tried to wrestle free to no avail. 

“Tulok!” Bato roared as sauce was smeared right over his eye. “ _Tulok!_ Help!” 

Tulok wasn’t listening. 

Tulok was hiding beneath a table. 

____ 

As soon as the fighting broke out, Tulok and Aneko raced to find safety. Safety, it seemed, came in the form of hiding beneath a table, eating the cakes that were _supposed_ to be for the guards and muffling their laughter behind crumb-laden hands. Aneko's usually infallible braid had come loose a little, and Tulok got an idea. 

Eventually, the guards wrangled the prisoners back to their cells, promising cuts to privileges and no prisoners allowed out of their cells for an entire week. As they squelched back, resigned to their punishments, a few of them still chuckling, Aput had an entire noodle stuck to his cheek, and Bato was fretfully trying to rub sauce off his face, and Chena looked like he’d dived headfirst into a pantry. 

Tulok, however, simply had a few cake crumbs on his hands, dark hair pulled neatly back in an Earth Kingdom braid. 

____ 

Across the courtyard, Aneko smiled as she flipped a Water Tribe braid over her shoulder. 

____ 

The week saw the two groups of warriors communicating through gestures across the courtyard. It dragged by gruellingly, boringly, and left the prisoners far too much time with their own thoughts. Thoughts of invasions and lost friends and _fear_. 

When they were finally allowed back out into the courtyard to socialise, the Kyoshi Warriors didn’t hesitate to come hang out with the tribesmen, and they joked and shared stories like old friends. They were so caught up in their relief of being out of their cells that it took Aneko a while to notice something was wrong. 

“Keiko, where’s Kayda?” She asked, frowning at the other girl. 

Keiko smiled knowingly, but shrugged. 

“Chena’s gone too.” Tulok noted, feeling his stomach dip. “You don’t think they’ve killed each other, do you?” 

As if hearing his concern, Chena and Kayda appeared, both grinning from ear to ear and both making the usually friendly expression look menacing. 

“What did you do?” Tulok asked without hesitation, and Chena gasped in mock offence. 

“No fucking trust with you.” He said, rolling his eyes. 

“Language.” Aput said, before catching Kayda’s eye. Her glare must have reminded him immediately of Toph, because he mumbled a quiet; “Sorry.” 

“Seriously, where have you two been?” Bato asked, and it was one of the rare occasions where he actually looked serious. 

Chena and Kayda shared a conspiring glance, before they both pulled their tunics slightly to reveal their shoulders. Kayda bit her lip to stop from laughing, and Chena’s expression was beyond smug. 

“You...” Tulok tried, but found himself speechless as he stared at two tiny inked images of a teacup. 

Surprisingly, it was Aneko who broke the stunned silence, her usually calm tone becoming a disbelieving yell; 

“ _You got matching tattoos?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obsessed with aneko and tulok's friendship being all 'make origami together, very calm, soft smiles, braid each other’s hair, eat cake beneath a table while everyone else fights, literally so pure'
> 
> and then there's chena and kayda, who are here to watch the world burn


	28. ii. The Crossroads Of Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have so much to say oops. so for starters it's currently ✨exam season✨ which means i've been really bad at being a nice little ao3 fic writer in that i'm SO slow to answer asks atm and i've not even been able to answer comments from the last two chapters yet. it's just been very very busy and if you factor in christmas and the fact i threw that lil bonus chapter at you (meaning with ch28 included i've written 20k of this fic in two weeks oh my god wait i just figured that out i did not expect that to be so high what the fuck i-) then it sort of makes sense? what i'm getting at is that i always respond to every single comment and i always will, but right now it's taking me a lot longer. i pinkie swear once exams have fucked off and i have successfully failed my a-levels then i will sit down one day and just Chat With Everyone, but until then, have this chapter <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a sticky one boys. jinkies 2.2 electric boogaloo. remember when i said bring a therapist for this one? yeah maybe bring two because the angst ran away with me and was too flirty and sexy for me to deny
> 
> abby made another [vine comp](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/638694760059666432/httpsyoutubedpbt2ptqksg-finally-i-won-my) because she is just iconic like that, go watch! and there's also two other vine comps which i have been watching on repeat [here](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/639011496955953152/i-have-to-post-this-in-two-parts-bc-the-video-is) and [here](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/639011485442588672/part-2-of-my-vibe-comp-for-hella1975-enjoy-im) AND a taob-as-community [video](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/636701459697876992/happy-birthday-hella-also-i-know-this-is-a-day) that i definitely wasn't supposed to link last chapter no sir. also, feel the need to mention that there is so much incredible fanart on my tumblr under the [taob art hashtag](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/hella1975/search/taob+art), peruse if you want to have ur heart ripped out <3
> 
> okay finally, abby also - because she is a very hard-working gal - made [this edit](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/post/638466030538260480/heres-your-surprise-love-no-but-this-seriously) for taob and when i tell you it made me cry festive tears over christmas oh my GOSH
> 
> okay i THINK that's everything but my main taob-extra-content place is tumblr so there's plenty more there <3

“I thought we were in a rush?” Zuko asked with a heavy glare, stood in the armoury doorway as Suki pottered about the weapons. Chit Sang had just left them with the promise of deliverance, and Suki had said it was logical for them to look for any more weapons that could be useful before they met up with the others, though Zuko had a hunch she was just looking for any of her other belongings. He didn’t begrudge her that. He knew what it was like to be taken somewhere and lose everything to that place, everything from your own clothes to your own weapons to your own mind. He knew what it was like to see a fragment of that again. He knew that insatiable urge to piece yourself back together. Here, as Suki searched fretfully, she was ready to collect herself and push all the broken pieces back into one. Zuko thought of old crockery, mended with gold, a little nicer for it. Kintsugi. 

And here Zuko stood with a glare and a hammer, ready to turn whatever was left of himself to dust. Uncle would say something about choices, or paths in a forest, or something that made no sense. But Uncle wasn’t here, and it wasn’t Zuko’s choice. It was pushed into his hands, for Zi Se. It was right, in the most cruel, wrong way. 

Zuko snapped his gaze down the corridor at the sound of movement. “Someone’s coming.” He hissed, and Suki was at his side in a few quick paces, face stony, serious, _ready_. 

Two guards rounded the corner, just passing onto the next corridor, and Zuko sucked in a breath, lowering the flames of the torches around him and Suki a little, sinking readily into the shadows. 

“-such short notice though.” One guard was saying, tone flustered. 

“The warden’s gonna be a nightmare now.” The other responded gruffly. “He was bad enough _without_ the Fire Princess visiting. With her coming today without warning?” He audibly shuddered. “Let’s just say, we’re gonna be working overtime.” 

Zuko completely froze, every muscle in his body turning rigid, and his mind blanked aside the memory of a single girl. 

Azula. 

Perfect black hair. Quick gold eyes. Curled lips. Young, innocent, untainted enough to be scared. 

Azula. 

Ember Island. Giggling. Hiding and eavesdropping. Father's. 

_Father's going to kill you._

Azula. 

Holding humanity like a rattling teacup. They were raised to know how to hold their tea, how to drink it, how to sit, spine straight and chin out, proud. But this etiquette was one Azula never learned, this cup one she'd never held before, pooling with kindness and love and mercy. Never enough. Splintered up the side. Golden. Quick gold eyes. Kintsugi. She smiled around the rim but never drank. Maybe it was poisoned. Maybe her hands would shake, that fragile clatter enough to deafen. It wasn’t worth the risk of it. 

_Azula, Azula, Azula._

Three years. 

Zuko had been gone three years. All this time agonising over the four months that were stolen from him, and only now did Zuko realise that it was longer than that, bigger than that. His whole life, people had been taking things from him, and it took this, all of this, this cataclysm of fear and pain and a rabid animal trapped behind his ribs, to realise that Azula had been taken from him too. 

His baby sister. 

His baby sister, who had never been perfect, who he wished would leave countless times, who made his life so much more miserable than it had to be. 

His baby sister, who regardless of all that was a child too, who didn’t know better, who was just doing her best. 

Azula was here. 

“What was that about?” Suki hissed, and Zuko – through the sudden roaring of shadows brushing dust from their shoulders – managed to slide his gaze to the girl beside him to see she was glaring at him, fans held up defensively. She looked cautious, Zuko noticed, but he felt like he was watching from outside of his body, all his reactions slow and late. He didn’t care about this room or Suki or all the pointless shit that trudged relentlessly on around him. Zuko was tired. Every day he woke up and he was still tired. He was tired of giving, watching those more powerful than him tear chunks from his body, watching them maul what was his and keep it, watching as sometimes they handed it back and expected him to know what to do with the carcass. He couldn’t fix this. He didn’t know how. He had no gold to fill the cracks of his heart and mind. He only had a blade and two burning fists. 

He was tired of giving. 

He was tired of being ruined by those more powerful than him. 

And as the thoughts raced through his head, darting and diving like a feather falling to the ground, he felt his chest tighten, his injured ribs pulling, because this wasn’t fear, and this wasn’t to keep Zi Se safe. This eagle-hawk in his chest had a new name, and Zuko didn’t know what that was. 

All he knew was that those more powerful than him had bowed to their applause long enough. 

Zuko wanted the brush now, the script, the role, the _power_. 

“Hey!” Suki nudged Zuko’s shoulder, and he blinked, snapping violently back. “I _said_ what was that about?” 

“Azula’s coming here.” Zuko said simply, breathing deep now it felt like something small had loosened within him. 

Suki considered that a few seconds, before pointing her fan to Zuko’s neck. “This is a set-up, isn’t it? Both of you here at the same time? You suddenly helping us? I should have known better.” 

_I should have known better_. Zuko couldn’t help but smirk. That was exactly what Sokka said. 

“It’s not a set-up.” Zuko said, and it shouldn’t have been enough to convince Suki, but Suki was smart. Her accusation seemed to stem from a need to highlight any risks, as if assessing a battle. She wasn’t the type to go back on her word though, and she’d decided to trust Zuko in her cell. They were in too deep for her to refute that now, and the indignant scowl on her face said she recognised that. 

“Swear it.” She hissed, and Zuko sighed. 

“I swear it." 

Suki nodded once, before pulling back her fans, stepping out of Zuko’s space. She didn’t apologise, and Zuko valued not having his limbs hacked up by a fan too much to allow himself to scoff. 

Eventually, Suki finished looking through the armoury, satisfied with her fans. The doors of the library towered over their heads, a gateway to a crypt that would pull Zuko’s haunted soul down even further. 

He'd just gained another ghost. 

It was time to face his old ones. 

____ 

Sokka looked to Kanut. The Angakkuq of the Ullaakut and a rough-looking man with a sharp wit Sokka had always respected. He read to him when Sokka was little and there had never been a time when he wasn’t at Hakoda’s side. 

Sokka looked to Iroh. The Fire Nation General and a stout old man with kind wrinkles beside his eyes. He helped Sokka fight against Azula in Ba Sing Se, and they had to leave him behind to save Aang. 

Sokka knew them as individuals, but as he took a deep breath and looked at the two men stood side by side like it was the most natural thing in the world, his mind tumbled to a stop. 

“What the fuck.” He finally muttered. Not a question, just a general observation. 

“We were cellmates.” Kanut offered with a shit-eating grin, like he knew how much he was messing with Sokka’s already fragile peace of mind. 

“Tui and La, they were cellmates.” Sokka whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Hakoda said from Sokka’s side, disbelieving blue eyes still scanning over Kanut like he was waiting for him to evaporate before him. They'd only been separated for just over a week, but it was the threat that hurt the most. In splitting the pair up, in splitting the Water Tribe up, the Fire Nation had threatened the kind of damage that was permanent. Hakoda knew better than anyone how lucky they were to be in this library together now. All of them. 

“Chief Hakoda, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you.” Iroh said, his voice that low, soft rumble as he bowed his head. “Kanut has told me a lot about the,” he hesitated, eyes narrowing, “ _events_ of the past few months. I'm led to believe I owe you a great deal.” 

Sokka wasn’t even touching his dad, but he still felt him tense, saw his lips part in shock before clamping shut, resigned, finally settling on a sad smile. 

“It wasn’t transactional, Your Highness.” Hakoda said quietly, and Sokka frowned. The atmosphere of this archaic space had suddenly thickened into something not easily swallowed, and Sokka had the distinct impression he was the only one who didn’t know what was being talked about. It reminded him of when he was little, when the warriors would discuss things above his head, voices quiet, when they’d mouth certain words and think Sokka was too young to catch them. It reminded him of that safe condescension. Part of him missed it, that lack of responsibility. But that wasn’t the life he lived anymore, and now, it made him angry. 

“What are you talking about?” Sokka asked, looking accusingly between the three men. 

Hakoda and Iroh had the decency to look sheepish, like they’d been caught, but Kanut only held Sokka’s gaze. 

“We should light some torches in here.” He said, completely ignoring Sokka’s question in favour of glaring distastefully at the shadows. Sokka opened his mouth to snap at the healer, but Hakoda spoke before he got the chance, quickly snatching this opportunity for a change in topic. 

“Good idea. Sokka, you found some before, right?” 

Sokka glared at his dad, every inch the surly teenager, but he realised Hakoda wasn’t going to budge. It wasn’t a mystery who Katara got that insufferable stubbornness from, and Sokka knew he himself possessed it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t infuriating to have it turned on him. 

“Come on, smartass. Let's get them.” Kanut said, and Sokka hesitated for a final hopeful second before following, leaving Hakoda and Iroh to talk about something _without him_. How unfair was that? Sokka had travelled miles of enemy territory, broken into a supposedly unbreachable prison, had been forced to befriend _Prince Zuko_ , spent the _night_ , and had managed to get his dad all the way down here without being caught, and the adults still had the nerve to baby him? He was sixteen. He was a warrior. He was perfectly capable of handling whatever it was they were talking about, thank you very much. And don’t get him started on the fact he had to figure out which prison his dad was in _by himself_ , with nothing but _scraps_ of information, in a _secret lair_ , in _the Western Air Temple_ , and-. 

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” Kanut asked politely the moment they turned into the maze of bookshelves, hidden from Hakoda and Iroh. 

Sokka blinked dumbly, before scoffing. “ _Hey-._ ” 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Kanut waggled his finger in front of Sokka’s face. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not about to patronise you and say there’s a war going on and that there are things you don’t understand just yet, because you know all that. Wish you didn’t, but you do. Just,” Kanut frowned, before smirking, ruffling Sokka’s hair, "trust us for a little while longer, would you?” 

“I’m not a child anymore. You can’t just keep me out of things. It's too late for that.” Sokka growled, trying not to let his temper get the best of him. 

Kanut’s expression twisted, almost pained. “Yeah, I know.” He mumbled, before clearing his throat. “Listen, if things go according to plan, then you’re gonna see some things today that make no sense, and that’s why I need you to trust us. Your dad has a lot to tell you, but this isn’t the time or the place. Okay, smartass?” 

Sokka narrowed his eyes, the storm of frustration and anger and injustice swirling within him still, before sighing, letting himself deflate. He knew Hakoda and Kanut would never do anything to him out of spite, he knew they were always looking out for him. It was why they left him behind, all those years ago. That didn’t make it fair though. It didn’t make it fair that Sokka had to just keep _accepting_ these things, had to keep _accepting_ half-answers and bald-faced lies, had to keep _accepting_ this bitter confusion. 

But if the war had taught him anything, it taught him how to muffle his feelings. He had to be strong, for Katara who cared too much, for Toph who wasn’t as tough as she claimed, for Aang who was so scared of what he was and what he had to do. He had to be strong, because Suki wasn’t here yet and he had to get everyone out. He had to be strong, because this was his fault. 

“Torches are over here.” Sokka said, plastering on a playful smirk. “And stop calling me a smartass. My genius should not be reduced to a mere derogatory term.” 

Kanut rolled his eyes, shoving Sokka’s shoulder. “Whatever you say, _smartass_.” Kanut turned in the direction of where Hakoda and Iroh would be, behind a few rows of bookshelves. “Hey, Iroh? If you’re done gossiping, come light these torches for us.” 

Sokka found the three torches he’d left, scooping them up just as Iroh found him and Kanut, and Sokka held out each one for him to light. He trusted Iroh, he did, but Sokka couldn’t help but flinch each time a flame shot his way, exploding into bright light as it caught the torch. 

“Iroh?” Sokka was talking before he even registered what he wanted to ask. 

Iroh took two torches from Sokka, handing one to Kanut. “Yes, Sokka?” 

“You know how firebending is always, like, you know, orange...” Sokka said messily, his mind shouting at him that _really? This_ was what he was asking right now? Sokka had hundreds, thousands, of questions, like what was Hakoda hiding from him? Why was Iroh here? Was Suki okay? They were in the middle of a prison break, and here Sokka was thinking of a curled smirk, bathed in burning blue, warring golden eyes... 

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, "Azula's is blue, right? And I just sort of assumed it was always like that, but now I'm kinda wondering... I mean.... like hypothetically... can a firebender’s fire change colour over time?” 

It was easier than saying _‘hey when you helped us in Ba Sing Se you refused to talk about Zuko no matter how much Aang badgered you about him, and we all just assumed that meant you’d realised he was an evil piece of shit and the two of you parted ways, but I just spent the night in a confined space with him and he wasn’t too bad actually and, get this, he now has blue fire and nice hair. Thoughts?’_ Because somehow, Sokka didn’t see that going down too well. 

Iroh's expression darkened, grey eyebrows tugging together, thinking of his niece while Sokka thought of his nephew, and Sokka didn’t realise he was leaning forward, ready to catch any whisper of information the old man gave him, until he heard the doors creak open, causing the three of them to jump. 

All thoughts of reticent teenage firebenders and enemies who struggled to act like it were chased away, and Sokka grinned, hope filling him. 

_Suki._

____ 

Hakoda watched Kanut escort Sokka away, into the labyrinthine rows of bookshelves, out of sight. Sokka went moodily, reluctantly, and Hakoda felt his heart twist. He felt like he did on the Ullaakut, when everyday he would look Sokka in the eye and refuse to tell him about Zuko. It wasn’t lying, but it _was_ withholding, and Hakoda had never liked to do that with his kids. He'd used excuses back then, told himself he’d tell Sokka and Katara when the time was right, when things were calmer, better, when he had some form of closure, no matter how far-fetched that seemed. 

Now, he decided to keep Sokka out of it because it was the smart thing to do. They were in the Boiling Rock, and Zuko deserved more than the rushed explanation he would get during a prison break. 

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to exclude Sokka after so many years forced away from him. 

“He’s a very smart boy, your Sokka. You should be very proud.” Iroh said, watching Hakoda. 

Hakoda smiled. “I am.” Hakoda breathed, turning to face the much shorter man. “More than anything in the world.” 

Hakoda felt himself tense with the knowledge that he was alone with Iroh. This man was a Fire Nation royal, and dealing with that wasn’t the kind of thing that came easier with experience. But Kanut trusted him, and Kanut’s trust had never been a thing easily given. He was good at reading, people as well as books, and if Iroh was a friend of Kanut’s, then he was a friend of Hakoda’s. 

“General, do you mind me asking why you’re here?” Hakoda asked, finally voicing his confusion. It was infuriating enough that Kanut had risked coming here just for Hakoda, but what reason did the Dragon of the West have? 

Iroh drew himself up in a deep inhale, before sighing, staring at the large library doors. 

“My nephew has his mother’s heart and his father’s temper,” Iroh said quietly, “and those are two contradictions that he has battled with his entire life. I left him alone a great deal, and I fear that was a mistake. I stood by his side, yes, but I left him alone...” the old General’s breath caught shakily, face pained, “and now I think he has resigned himself to that very solitude.” 

Hakoda didn’t understand what Iroh was saying, not fully, but he knew enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. _His mother’s heart and his father’s temper_. Hakoda remembered a boy, terrified. Hakoda remembered the burn on Tomkin’s arm that had now healed as a scar. Hakoda remembered the horror that followed it, and the apology, and the honesty. Contradictory. It was the perfect word for Zuko. Zuko, the boy of two swords and two halves. 

There was a lump in Hakoda’s throat that he couldn’t swallow. He knew what Iroh was about to say, but he hadn’t translated the thought into something coherent yet. It was on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wanted it to remain unsaid. 

“General Fong is here.” Iroh said, and the poison with which he said the man’s name made even Hakoda flinch. “And so is Zuko.” 

Iroh left Hakoda to his thoughts to help Kanut and Sokka, and Hakoda stayed frozen in place, because between those two sentences was the explanation Hakoda hadn’t wanted to hear. 

_General Fong is here_. The man who brutalised a helpless teenager despite knowing it wasn’t gaining him anything, who did unforgivable, irredeemable things, who deserved every horror that came his way. 

_And so is Zuko._ The boy who fumbled good intentions with the awkwardness of someone who had been demonised for them his entire life. The boy whose heart was soft but whose anger burned as bright as the flames he held. It could blind him. It could make him do stupid, stupid things, like fight a warrior twice his size or mouth off to a captor or keep on going no matter how many times he was told to stop. 

And now, Zuko was here, and Zuko was angry, and Zuko was going to keep on going. 

General Fong was going to die today. 

The double-doors of the library were tall and beautiful, engraved wood older than Hakoda himself, and that age made them groan whenever they were pushed across the dusty floor. It was that loud complaint that snapped Hakoda from his dark mind, but he thought even without it, he would have looked up. It was an instinctive thing, like how even in a crowd, Hakoda could spot Sokka and Katara, like how Hakoda could always tell it was Tomkin approaching through nothing else but his footfalls. He looked up because it was instinctive, a steady warmth instead of burning. Hakoda knew who would be stood there. He knew he would never be ready to see them like this. He knew it would devastate him. 

Slowly, Hakoda lifted his head, and met Zuko’s burning stare. 

____ 

Five months ago, Chena grabbed Zuko in a mean grip and marched him before Hakoda, and Zuko had been terrified but dedicated to a dignified death. He didn’t know yet that Hakoda told jokes and stories and knew every inscrutable trait of his crew. He didn’t know yet that Hakoda was kind as well as strong, merciful as well as smart. 

Four months ago, Zuko sat beside Hakoda in a tent, Hakoda’s hand holding his wrist as he tried to validate a part of Zuko that, until then, he’d never even considered as anything but _wrong_. 

_Do it, coward._ Snarled through bloody teeth. _Kill me._ And that was the tone of their introduction; fatal, dangerous, the end of a life. 

_Someone by your side, not ahead. Someone who listens. Someone who loves you as you are, unconditionally, without expecting something in return._ Whispered gently, inadvertently self-descriptive. _You are not my father_. And that was the tone of their separation; caring, safe, the end of a lifestyle. 

Today, Zuko stood in the doorway of a prison library and found his gaze once again meeting blue, and everything else froze. 

There, stood before a table coated in old books and a layer of dust, was Chief Hakoda. 

Distantly, Zuko was aware of Suki offering a pleasant greeting, he was aware of the bookshelves and the sliding doors and soft splash of boiling water outside, he was aware of the distance between him and Hakoda. Two steps, give or take. The same number of steps he’d taken into the library before everything shuddered to a stop. Two steps before him. Two steps behind him. Each space, a chasm. Each space, infinitesimal. All this pain, all this terror, and it had been reduced to two little steps. 

That realisation, the magnitude of it all suddenly melting into the first tolerable amount Zuko had been able to handle in months, made him suck in a breath. And then exhale. And then inhale. The air was cool, soft, like a salve on a burn. 

He didn’t notice himself trembling until he tried to speak, and the words came out shaky, wet, almost silent; “I didn’t leave.” 

Hakoda’s face had been frozen, like a portrait painted of someone long since passed, but it crumpled upon those three words. Agni, he was really here. 

“I know.” Hakoda said, and his voice was smoother than it was in Zuko’s dreams, in Zuko’s nightmares, just like his eyes were kinder than the piercing blues detailing the shadows of Zuko’s mind. 

“I had no choice.” Zuko choked out. He needed to say the words. He needed to hear them spoken. He knew it wasn’t necessary, that Hakoda was good and in turn would _know_ , but Zuko needed this. He was desperate for it. In a sense, it was closure. The act was still in play, the plot was yet to tie up all the ends. Until it did, Zuko couldn’t move on to the next act. 

He had to finish this. 

“I know.” Hakoda said again, and stepped forward. 

One step between them. 

One step forward, two steps back. 

One step, and Zuko’s eyes travelled over Hakoda’s unfamiliar red prison tunic, stomach roiling uncomfortably only to settle at the sight of harsh cheekbones and beaded hair and arms that had once hugged him. 

One step, and Zuko remembered that night. Tomkin's shock, Chena’s anger, Kanut’s steady stare. The Chief’s tent. Zuko had spoken of Mother, of Uncle, of Father. He had unwound the threads of a burning blanket, and Hakoda had gently extinguished it, managing to piece the bloody ashes back together into something soft, something caring. Warm, not burning. And he’d blanketed Zuko in safety without question or motive, and now, Zuko ached for it. He wanted to go back to that moment. He wanted all of this to go away. 

He felt like a child all of a sudden, because he just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. 

“I fought them.” Zuko managed to whisper, throat tightening. “I did, I really tried, I-.” 

And then Zuko’s words got caught against Hakoda’s chest, and two big arms wrapped around his shoulders and just held him, and it pressed against old wounds and it hurt but Zuko didn’t care, because it smelt of salt and security and he was just so, so tired. He was too tired to let go. He was too tired to do anything but clutch Hakoda’s tunic and hold his breath to hide a wince. 

And it broke his heart, because this wasn’t a reunion. 

This was the goodbye they never got to have. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Hakoda said, and there was something grounding about hearing that. Hakoda already knew why he was here, because Hakoda was logical, and the next logical step was for Zuko to kill Fong. 

Zuko pulled away, clamping his hiss of pain behind his teeth as he did so. Hakoda seemed reluctant to let him go and that made everything hurt even more, but he did, expression dark, troubled, eyebrows furrowed. He was looking at Zuko like he didn’t recognise him, like the scar on his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes and the mess of black hair was all some costume, like he was waiting for Zuko to take off the mask and reveal his old self. His old, moody, imperfect self. Zuko wanted to say that he didn’t know where to find that boy. Zuko wanted to say that boy was dead. Zuko wanted to say he didn’t know if Fong had killed him or if he had killed himself. Zuko wanted to say so much and it made the bird in his chest sing a sharp, broken melody. But he didn’t say anything. He just stood, and stared, and didn’t change his mind. 

Zuko was saved from answering by loud footsteps, and suddenly, Sokka burst from around a bookshelf, a grin splitting his face as he spotted Suki. Suki, who was stood to the side, green eyes studying both Hakoda and Zuko, narrowed and uncertain, studious. She blinked a second after Sokka’s appearance, plastering on a happy smile. 

“Sokka!” She beamed, and the two ran to each other, crashing together in a relieved hug. It seemed... easy. Natural. Zuko felt Hakoda staring at him and was too cowardly to meet his eye. 

Sokka turned his smile – that infuriatingly _easy_ smile – on where Zuko and Hakoda stood. They were side-by-side, Hakoda’s arm brushing Zuko’s, a tension between them but also a lapse back into a once familiar tone. They were positioned like equals, or friends, which wasn’t even nearly enough to describe the relationship Hakoda and Zuko had built over so short a time, but was still so mind-numbing to Sokka, whose smile slowly fell into a confused frown. 

The Chief of the Southern Water Tribe was supposed to hate the Prince of the Fire Nation. 

They weren’t supposed to be comfortable around each other. 

They weren’t supposed to even know each other. 

____ 

So... Hakoda was being awfully relaxed around the Fire Prince. 

Which was fine. 

This was all totally fine and normal. Sokka wasn’t concerned. And hey, Suki was here. That was good. Great. Sokka was calm, collected. Sokka absolutely was _not_ feeling dread crawl up his spine, breathing a cold chill over the back of his neck, as he looked between Zuko, whose expression was terrifyingly blank, and Hakoda, who was stood just a little too close to someone he was supposed to hate. That feeling from earlier returned, that feeling that there was a secret here, in this old, creaking library, that Sokka was being shielded from. It returned stronger than before, in a tsunami of confusion and doubt and, at the forefront, fear. _You’re gonna see some things today that make no sense._

Sokka took a deep breath. He trusted his dad. Whatever was going on, his dad would know what he was doing. They were all still in imminent danger, and right now, Suki came first. 

“You’re okay.” Sokka breathed, letting his blue eyes rake over Suki’s face, searching for anything that might disprove his statement. Her hair was messy and pulled back, deep shadows beneath her eyes like bruises, but she still stood tall and strong, and that was where her beauty had always come from. 

Suki nodded, brushing a strand of Sokka’s hair from his face. “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, and for a moment, it was just the two of them. 

Her small smile slowly fell, and she flicked a nervous glace to Zuko, who was stood with Hakoda still, the two of them in a conversation of their own that Sokka sincerely hoped was Hakoda finally acting normally and interrogating Zuko about his motives. 

“Azula. She's here.” Suki said beneath her breath, and Sokka tensed, eyes widening as he looked back to Suki. “We overheard some guards. He swears it’s not a set-up, but I don’t know.” 

It took Sokka a moment to realise she was talking about Zuko. It scared him how easily he trusted the other boy. It was... well, it was his _instincts_. They were drawn to Zuko like a moth to the flame. Zuko and his inexplicability and his contradictions and his-. 

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far without him, Sooks.” Sokka said, trying for an easy smile, lighting up when Suki softened at the nickname. 

“Sokka,” she said, “if you trust him, so do I. Just say the words and I’ll let this go. If you think he’s good now, that’s all I need.” 

Trusting Zuko hadn’t been a one-time decision. Time and time again – when they first bumped into one another in the corridor, when they stood a breath apart in the storage cupboard, when Sokka let Zuko go alone after Suki – Sokka had decided to trust the firebender, each decision unique and different, and yet each time, it came so easily. Trusting Zuko felt natural. They just... they just seemed to understand each other. 

But asking Suki to trust Zuko had a different weight to it. _If you think he’s good now, that’s all I need_. Sokka thought lots of things about Zuko now that he didn’t used to, but did he think he was good? After that conversation about the Fire Nation, or the horrors without explanation coating his skin, or their history, could Sokka honestly say Zuko was good now? 

Sokka remembered the shy smile, the awkward jumble of words, as Zuko spoke about that little boy, remembered how Zuko's hair fell in his face when he was sleeping, remembered the steadiness he felt when with Zuko, like he’d found an equal, like he could finally share some of the weight crushing him instead of tirelessly defending those younger than him, and realised he’d already formed an answer. 

“I think so.” Sokka whispered. “I really, really think so.” 

_I hope so_ , he left unsaid. 

____ 

“We looked for you.” Hakoda said as Sokka and Suki spoke quietly to one another. “You have to know we looked for you.” 

Zuko saw his own heart in Hakoda’s eyes. He didn’t believe it lived within him anymore, but Hakoda remembered it. Zuko’s gaze could trace the contours of it, could watch fresh cracks ricochet through it upon Hakoda’s words. He'd felt so alone these past four months. Lee had Zi Se. Zuko had no one. He'd convinced himself the Water Tribe would have forgotten him, or wouldn’t have cared about his absence. On the bad days, he swore they would see it as a good thing. An expedient way of ridding themselves of him. 

But now with the Chief before him, that seemed so ridiculous. They weren’t like that. They were... they were good. They were good, and goodness was often naïve, stupid, unfounded. They were good and they had looked for him, and it had been hopeless. 

“The invasion...” Zuko cursed himself for giving into this weakness, but he had to know. “Everyone’s okay, right?” 

Hakoda’s features tensed, before softening. “The main body of the crew were taken to Shuhon Prison. I'm going to get them all out the moment I'm out of this place. Nanook and Little Tom are at the Western Air Temple, with the Avatar-.” 

“Dad!” Sokka hissed, catching the end of their conversation, automatically in-tuned to any mention of his friends. 

Zuko smirked, hiding the way his mind screamed at the nostalgia of it all. Hakoda's voice. Nanook. Little Tom. Names he hadn’t heard aloud in an infinity. 

“I’m not going to the Western Air Temple.” Zuko told Sokka simply. It was easier than saying everything ended today, that when he walked out of the Boiling Rock, he left it all behind, he left everyone behind. 

“Then why are you asking about it?” Sokka raised an imploring eyebrow. 

“Wait,” Hakoda said suddenly, “Sokka, is this who you meant when you said someone else was helping you?” 

“Well, yeah.” Sokka said sheepishly, like he’d been caught, before snapping back to his own accusations. “But-… wait, dad, do you _know_ him?” 

It made sense that Sokka didn’t know about Zuko’s time on the Ullaakut. It was an impossible thing to describe, and it seemed Hakoda had been rather busy lately. That didn’t mean Zuko couldn’t help the uncertain glance he threw the Chief. He was trying not to care, really, he was, but he wasn’t about to misstep on Hakoda’s relationship with his son. He remembered the fondness with which Hakoda always spoke of Sokka. It was like nothing Zuko had ever known. It had burned, at the time, and he’d denied it. He knew better now. He knew Ozai better. 

Suddenly, a dry, sarcastic voice spoke up; “I hate to interrupt, but I think His Highness has some explaining to do.” 

Zuko felt his jaw go slack, head snapping to the source of the noise as a man rounded the bookshelves to stand beside Sokka, familiar blue blizzards meeting golden eyes, glaring in equal parts anger and understanding. 

After all, Kanut had always managed to see Zuko in a way others didn’t, couldn’t. 

And Agni, he looked the same, all long white hair and stubble and sharpness, and with Hakoda here too, it could almost be another day on the Ullaakut, waking up to shared meals, laughter, safety. But Zuko didn’t even have time to process his shocked confusion as to _why the fuck Kanut was in the Boiling Rock_ , because a second later, Uncle Iroh appeared at Kanut’s side. 

Zuko felt like the room was spinning, keeping him standing through force alone as it whirled in a cruel chaos of memories. Uncle on the Erlong. Kanut and Hakoda on the Ullaakut. A man who had been there when the worst happened, and two men who helped pick Zuko up from it. Between the three of them, they probably knew Zuko better than anyone in the world. And here, in this library, with the goal to kill Fong, Zuko had felt like he didn’t even know himself. He was freefalling, and he was being taunted with.... with _this_. This ghost of his past self, stood before him. They remembered the version of him that he mourned, and they didn’t even realise that the boy before them now was an imposter, a fake. 

A villain. 

They didn’t deserve this. 

Zuko cared about them once. Maybe he still had the capacity to care about them now. And he knew they didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him like this. 

“What is there to explain?” Zuko growled, hand holding the side of his head, feeling like his thoughts might spill out and contaminate those around him. Hakoda's kindness, Kanut’s understanding, Uncle’s love, Sokka’s easy smile, Suki’s strength. Zuko was a plague and he... he couldn’t unleash himself upon them. 

“Oh, I don’t know, tough guy.” Kanut cocked his head. “Maybe the fact you have at least two broken ribs, maybe more if the way you’ve been holding them is anything to go by, or the fact you clearly haven’t sat with a healer and clearly need to. What were you _thinking_ , coming here?” 

His tone was cold, icy, and a pathetic attempt at hiding the fact that Kanut - stony, strong _Kanut_ \- was sick with worry. 

“Nephew...” Uncle breathed, and his golden gaze hadn’t left Zuko’s form since he stepped forward, now slightly teary as he took in the scars, hesitating on the hair. He knew what that meant, even if the others didn’t. 

Zuko couldn’t stop thinking. His thoughts were a snowstorm and he didn’t know how to handle that, how to navigate that. He didn’t know which way home was. He didn’t know if he had a home anymore. Had he ever? He remembered Nanook in Gaoling, his smile, his comradery. _Race you home._

Zuko lost that race. He was still losing that race. 

“Do you guys know each other?” Sokka asked, disbelieving, like he expected to be immediately shot down. 

“You’re hurt?” Hakoda ignored Sokka’s frustration, turning to face Zuko with a horrified frown. Zuko took a step back from him. 

“Of course he’s hurt!” Kanut snapped, and Zuko didn’t know if his anger was reference to the various scars decorating his body or to where Zuko had been for four months. 

“Zuko, we need to talk.” Uncle’s attempts at serenity. 

“Kid, sit down.” Hakoda’s worried eyes. _I'm not a kid_. Agni, he wished he still were. 

Kanut took a step closer. “Let me look you over at least.” 

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?!” Sokka shouted, oblivious to the way Suki had grabbed his arm. 

“Zuko-.” 

Too loud. Too much. 

“Zuko-?” 

“Would you all just leave me alone!” 

His sharp yell pierced through the library, and everything silenced. No one spoke, no one moved, no one blinked. Every inch of focus was pointed towards Zuko as he took breath after shaky breath. 

The thoughts silenced too. 

Long enough for Zuko to try and see where he was going amongst the shadows of his mind. 

Hakoda was here. That meant Zuko could say goodbye properly this time, and it meant he could ensure Hakoda knew that Zuko did, truly, have to do this. 

Kanut was here. Zuko was surprised to see him, but Agni, he’d missed his stupid sarcastic comments and the way Zuko never had to explain himself. Zuko hadn’t been ready to face him though, hadn’t expected it. 

Iroh was here. Zuko didn’t know how he felt about that. It had been five months, and Zuko had changed so much. He didn’t think he was his Uncle’s nephew, not anymore. Iroh would find out soon enough. 

Uncle was here because of Tovah. It made sense now. Zuko should have known she wouldn’t stay quiet. What reason did she have to? She probably thought she was helping Zuko. They probably all thought they were helping. 

They didn’t understand what it was like to see agony in every shadow. The only way Zuko could try to recover, to rebuild, was with Zi Se, and he could only return to Zi Se when he knew that Fong could never, ever hurt them again. 

He'd missed them all. He'd missed them all so much that it felt like he was trying to breathe around three daggers in his chest, and now they were here, those blades had been pulled out, leaving him to bleed, to spill, to die. 

But they couldn’t stop Zuko from doing what he had to do. 

____ 

Zuko still reacted to stress the same way he used to. That is to say, he reacted to it badly, but it still sent a spike of familiarity through Hakoda that made him ache all over. Kanut said Zuko was injured, and Hakoda got so caught up in the worry that caused that he didn’t realise people’s voices were raising, the atmosphere shifting into one of frustration, everyone speaking at once, everyone seeking answers to their own questions, everyone with various amounts of information, and it was targeted inadvertently at Zuko. And like it always did, it made him shut down, back away. It made him panic, whether he realised he was panicking or not. 

“Easy, kid. Breathe.” Hakoda said in a hushed tone. As much as he wanted to step closer to Zuko, place a comforting hand to his shoulder, he stayed put, knowing that when Zuko got like this, he sometimes just needed a moment to be alone in his own skin and mind. Hakoda couldn’t even imagine what these four months had done to exacerbate that. 

“I have to do this.” Zuko hissed, wildfire eyes flicking to the group around him. 

“I can't stand by and let this happen, nephew.” Iroh said, brows furrowed. “It is irreversible. I can’t let you-.” 

“You can’t stop me either.” Zuko spit out, and Hakoda found himself inclined to stand between the two of them. Kanut trusted Iroh, and Iroh loved Zuko, but he wasn’t explaining himself, he was saying the wrong things. He was making Zuko see him as opposition, a hurdle, something in his way. 

He was making things worse. 

“Zuko,” Iroh tried again, stressing each word, “I am begging you. Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want.” 

Zuko focussed on that, his shaking fingers drawing into fists, his shoulders pushing back, and he levelled his gaze on his uncle alone. Hakoda had never seen anything quite like the way Zuko completely wiped his face of emotion in that moment. Zuko, who had always been defined by the extremes of his personality. He felt everything too much, and that was the problem. This... 

This was not the boy Hakoda left behind. 

“That’s the thing, Uncle.” Zuko said, a bitter, broken laugh escaping him. “I’ve seen what I want, and I intend to go through with it.” 

____ 

The past few minutes had been ones of intense confusion and shouting, and Sokka was still no closer to knowing what the fuck was going on. There was something big here, he understood that, he respected that, but that still didn’t make _being completely blanked by his father in favour of the Fire Prince_ easier. Speculation had slowly solidified in Sokka’s mind; Zuko and Hakoda knew each other. Somehow. Correction; Zuko and Hakoda knew each other, and _liked each other_. 

Sokka could very easily have a very passionate rant about how rude and ridiculous and unfair this all was, but it was deeper than Hakoda befriending Sokka’s not-quite-enemy-but-certainly-not-friend. It was deeper and darker than that, because people didn’t just get injuries like Zuko’s without something prolonged and horrific and intentional happening, and Sokka had never seen Kanut look so blatantly worried, or Iroh so upset. 

Or Hakoda so shattered. 

So, Sokka resigned himself to just watching things play out for now. His confused questions weren’t getting any answers, so he stopped asking. Even when he noticed the way Zuko stepped away from everyone, and it looked almost like he was retreating, like he was overwhelmed. Even when Sokka found himself wanting to help. 

But then Zuko froze, expression smoothing over like ice freezing over a lake, and he said the words _’I've seen what I want and I intend to go through with it_ ’ in that detached voice, and Sokka just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Go through with what?” He asked into the silence, ignoring Suki’s grip tightening on his arm. After spending the night here with Zuko, after sleeping soundly beside him, and yes, at times, _on_ him, it shouldn’t have sent such a chill through Sokka to have the other boy’s gaze meet his, but those golden eyes were incendiary. 

They looked how they used to, when Zuko was bad and Sokka was scared of him. 

Zuko worked his jaw, his voice a low rasp. “I told you I'm here for someone. I'm not here to break someone out.” 

Brilliant. Of course. That made complete sense. 

Sokka's disappointed frustration must have shown on his face, because Suki jumped in before another shouting match started. 

“Sorry to cut in,” she said, not sounding very sorry, “but we still have no way of getting out of here.” 

The words turned the cogs of Sokka’s mind, everything slotting back into place, Zuko moving down his list of priorities back where he ought to have stayed; near the bottom. Breaking out of the Boiling Rock mattered now. Nothing that was said here would mean anything if they all got caught and died here. 

“Kanut and Iroh have a war balloon.” Hakoda said, words hesitant, tone quiet, like he was struggling to pull himself from his cloudy mind. 

“Yes,” Kanut nodded, “but Iroh crashed it on the wrong side of the lake.” 

“For the last time-.” 

“How did you get across then?” Sokka cut Iroh off with a frown. 

Iroh threw a disgruntled look Kanut’s way, before answering Sokka. “There was a quaint little rowboat on the bank.” 

Sokka’s rowboat. He almost laughed. 

“Well, we won’t all fit in a rowboat.” Suki said, and the group lapsed into silence. Sokka was thinking. He'd need a little while. There was a solution here. There was always a solution, he just needed to find it. 

“If only Toph were here,” Sokka laughed to himself, “she could earthbend a bridge right across to the war balloon.” 

The air tensed, like everyone but Sokka had heard an explosion, and he flicked his gaze up to see everyone staring at him. Everyone but Zuko, who was tracing the handle of his sword, fiery eyes trained on the floor as Sokka followed the steady movements of his finger. It was a little hypnotic, but Sokka was distracted by the way his dad was gaping at him, as if mentally telling him to stop. Stop what, Sokka didn’t know. 

And neither, tellingly, did Suki. 

“Hey Zuko,” she said, turning to the firebender, “you asked Chit Sang to bring that earthbender. We could use them.” 

“Chit Sang?” Hakoda asked. 

Suki nodded. “Another prisoner. He caught us so we said he could join the escape, and now he’s bringing some of his friends. They should be here soon.” 

“You’re having him walked right to you?” Kanut hissed, staring at Zuko. 

Zuko cocked his head. “Would you rather I hunt him down?” 

Sokka's stomach twisted uncomfortably, the cogs turning, the facts slotting together, each scrap of information slowly forming an image. 

“Hunt who down?” He asked quietly, coming to a new theory for why Zuko was here. _I'm here for someone. I'm not here to break someone out._

Revenge. 

And suddenly, the beaten map of Zuko’s skin made a little more sense. 

If Sokka was right, if this nagging thought in his head was onto something, then the person who did that to Zuko was here, and Zuko intended to find them, and... 

And then what? 

Sokka was older than his years in many ways, and he’d never known a life without war. He’d known death since he was a child. Killing, too. Killing was what the Fire Nation did. They killed his mother, the Air Nomads, the _world_. But since travelling with Aang, Sokka had been forced to see death differently. All the people hit a little too hard by Toph’s earthbending, all the people caught too long in Katara’s watery rage, and _Aang_. Aang, who in the North Pole had his hand forced by a Spirit to devastate countless. 

It was Sokka’s job to cover them up, each and every one of them. Even from Toph, because for all her steadfastness, she was still only twelve. He knew with each bloody lie that he shouldn’t have to do this, and that was why he learned, rather quickly, that it never mattered that they were Fire Nation. He wouldn’t know if they had it coming or not, and even if they did, that didn’t change his mindset. Sokka was one of the good guys; he couldn’t be that if he didn’t care about who died in his and his friends’ wake. Sokka was left to deal with that grief by himself, the complexity of it, the way it contradicted in him, the way he wanted to hate each ghost but knowing he didn’t have the kind of heart to do that. 

And it would take a truly rotten heart to kill and not care. 

A heart Sokka swore Zuko didn’t have. 

But then Zuko shrugged a tired shoulder at his question, and his mouth formed two words. Practised like a curse, a penalty, a eulogy. 

“General Fong.” 

Sokka’s expression knotted in disgust instinctively, remembering that horrible man, remembering how he’d screamed his throat raw watching his little sister sink deep, remembering how he just couldn’t get to her quick enough, remembering those few seconds where he thought he’d lost her, remembering the way Aang ignited in fury. It was something he’d rather forget. _Fong_ was something he’d rather forget. 

Zuko didn’t seem to have that option. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda started tentatively, and the ease with which he said the Fire Prince’s name made Sokka’s skin prickle, “I know what it’s like to hate someone so much you feel you want them dead, but your uncle is right. It's irreversible. You can never undo it. That isn’t something you want on your conscience.” And here, Hakoda scowled, words becoming a sudden growl. “No matter how much he might deserve it.” 

Sokka sucked in a breath. So he was right then. Zuko was here to kill Fong, to take a life, to consciously and purposely murder another person. It was a different calibre of death than Sokka had ever been familiar with. Spirits, he’d shaken hands with this boy, and all the while, Zuko was plotting this. And sure, Sokka had imagined Fong dead too, had ached for it when that anger and anguish was still fresh, but he’d never have actually gone through with it. None of Team Avatar would. Because they were _good_. And... and Zuko was supposed to be good now too. Sokka's instincts said so much. 

Zuko couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. 

“I’m not doing this for me. I have no choice.” Zuko growled, like he’d heard the words enough in his mind to grow tired of them now. “I have to know he’ll never hurt us, anyone, ever again.” 

Everyone looked confused, except Sokka, who glanced at the small necklace still glinting atop Zuko’s uniform. It was nice to be the one in the room who actually knew what was going on for once, but that satisfaction paled in comparison to the dread he felt. 

“Killing Fong won’t change whatever he did to you, Zuko.” Sokka finally spoke up, and Hakoda threw him a bewildered glance, horrified at the sudden handle Sokka seemed to have on the conversation. It was only logical that Sokka connect the dots while everyone politely told him _absolutely nothing_ ; he didn’t know why his dad looked so surprised. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Zuko snarled, and Sokka found himself frowning, torn between tenderness and toughness, torn between where he stood with this boy. 

“You can’t just...” Sokka started, fumbling his words. “You can’t just kill everyone that’s a threat to you. I get it, I do. After what Fong did to Katara, I barely slept for days. I just kept thinking that he was still out there, still wanted Aang, was still willing to do anything to stop this war. But killing him would have made me just as bad as him.” 

Zuko scoffed. “And if you’d have killed him when you wanted to, I wouldn’t be in such a mess.” Sokka flinched at the accusation, but Zuko didn’t stop. “He is going to keep hurting people. It's like you said; he’s willing to do anything to stop this war. He'll burn everything and everyone, so long as the Fire Nation falls.” 

Iroh stepped forward desperately. “And if trees grow from ashes, you do not fell the forest to heal what was once burned.” He urged. “Zuko, please, it is not your job to decide who lives and who dies.” 

“And you?” Zuko said, tone cutting. “Is it your job? Was it your job in Ba Sing Se?” 

Iroh drew himself up, sucking in a breath. “Ba Sing Se,” he said lowly, “will be on my conscience until I take my last breath.” 

“And this will be on mine.” Zuko nodded. “I’ve come to terms with that.” 

“Back up a second.” Hakoda said, lifting a hand and turning to Sokka. “You said Fong did something to Katara?” 

Sokka swallowed, not sure how to explain this to his dad. It was one of his many chilling tales of this past year. “Aang can only enter the Avatar State when he’s distressed. Fong lost his patience with him,” Sokka said, working his jaw, “so in order to initiate the Avatar State, he threatened to kill Katara. He... he buried her, convinced Aang she would die, and Aang he... he...” 

“That bastard.” Hakoda growled, pure hatred dripping from his words, and Sokka’s eyes widened. 

“ _Dad_.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hakoda asked, and Sokka had the distinct impression he was about to get a telling off. 

“I-. Well, I-…" Sokka stuttered, the sudden déjà vu of being berated slamming into him. “So much has happened. I could hardly tell you _all_ of it.” 

“So I noticed.” Hakoda crossed his arms. “You left out any mention of prison ships and pirates and volcanoes.” 

Sokka’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you-?!” He cut his glance to Zuko, who had stayed very quiet, and suddenly, it made sense. “You _snitched?!_ ” 

“Oh please.” Zuko huffed. 

“What happened to teenage comradery?” Sokka demanded. 

“Where was teenage comradery when you hit me with that stupid boomerang?” Zuko said mockingly, and Sokka warmly remembered the way Boomerang had smashed into the back of Zuko’s head in the South Pole. 

“Yeah,” Sokka pointed, “well you kicked me first. In the _head_.” 

“Boys.” Hakoda grumbled, rubbing his temples. 

“It’s not my fault you tried to get on my ship!” Zuko snapped. 

Sokka puffed out his chest angrily. “You tried to kidnap my friend! Multiple times!” 

“He wasn’t your friend at the beginning!” 

“Oh so _that_ makes it okay-.” 

“Boys!” Hakoda yelled, and Sokka and Zuko both silenced, even the ever-arrogant Zuko looking a little sheepish. 

“Some things don’t change.” Kanut said with a half-hearted smile, and Zuko tensed like he’d been hit. 

“Would it be alright if I spoke alone with my nephew?” Iroh asked the group but kept his gaze trained on the nephew in question. It was quiet for a few seconds as Zuko thought, before he sighed, shoulders slumping a fraction. He didn’t speak or even nod, but when he turned to walk to a quiet corner of the library, Iroh followed without question. 

____ 

With the shadow of a bookshelf separating them from the others, it was just Zuko and Uncle. The smell of tea clawed down Zuko’s neck, unsettling what lay in his chest, and he had to forcibly quash his bitter thoughts. _Where were you?_ He wanted to ask Iroh. _Where were you when I was alone, was scared? I needed you. I needed you and you didn’t come._

But Zuko couldn’t afford vulnerability here, and he didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Uncle wanted to stop him from killing Fong; that made him a problem. A problem with warm eyes and a kind smile, a problem who gently, tenderly, brushed aside a strand of Zuko’s black hair, tears filling those warm eyes, a problem who Zuko caught by the wrist before he came any closer. 

“Nephew-.” 

“There’s a boy at the White Lotus camp.” Zuko said monotonously, lowering his Uncle’s hand, hating himself for how gently he touched the soft skin. “His name is Zi Se. He's only five. I need you to go back for him when this is over. I need you to take care of him, bring him to his aunt. _Not_ ,” Zuko added harshly, “his father.” 

Uncle frowned, and each word from Zuko’s mouth seemed to lash at him, like he was finally seeing how irreparable this was. It was too late for Zuko. It wasn’t too late for Zi Se, or the rest of the group here. 

“My boy,” Uncle said, voice cracking over those two words, “of course I will take care of him, but why can’t you?” 

Zuko’s gaze fell to his hand, still wrapped loosely around Uncle’s wrist. Zuko's youthful skin pressed to Uncle’s aged own, smooth and pale against Uncle’s wrinkles and blemishes, but here, Uncle had freckles coating his knuckles where Zuko had slowly healing bruises, and here, Uncle had a warm flush where Zuko had small pink scars, and here, when Zuko turned his palm upwards, he had a rigid gash, white and bumped out of his skin a little, from when he had caught it on shattered glass. He remembered the sting of it. He remembered how the blood coated his hands so easily, like it was always supposed to be there. He remembered the stain he left on the glass. A jar of tea leaves. Orange and red; the colour of fire and blood. It sent Zuko’s heart racing, and he dropped Uncle’s hand like it had burned him, or rather, like Zuko had burned Uncle. Kindness and innocence; Uncle and Zi Se. 

Could Zuko really be so selfish as to hold them both in bloodied hands? Could he really allow his own pain to be smeared over them? 

The plan was to kill Fong. Zuko hadn’t thought of anything past that, but he assumed he’d go back to the White Lotus camp with Uncle, back to Zi Se. 

Now, he was having second thoughts. 

There was something inside him, something inhuman with its curled beak and talons, and it was tearing him apart. He assumed he was enough to satisfy its hunger, but what if that eagle-hawk was insatiable? It would devour Zuko whole, and then it would move on. And then-. 

And then an alarm began to blare through the prison, yanking Zuko from his mind as it screamed relentlessly in his ears, and the library doors opened, four prisoners sprinting in, panting and terrified. Chit Sang, his two friends, and a man with green eyes, a sharp face, a brown beard. 

Zuko stopped hearing the alarm as he stared at General Fong. 

Memory bled in Zuko’s mouth, and he remembered Oro and Renmin. They had spent the entire ride to Fong’s base chatting excitedly about their prospects, two friends just looking for a promotion, and a few hours later, they were murdered and buried without rites. Memory dripped down Zuko’s throat, and he remembered the pillars around his wrists. The ability to fight back, to move, to be anything but helpless had been taken from Zuko, and it had mutated touch from something that could have been alright in a nicer world, to something that scared him. And that damned him to a life of isolation, all at the flick of Fong’s hand. Memory coated the bird behind Zuko’s ribs, and he remembered agony. Burning, seething, all-consuming agony. The way it clung to his breath, his skin, his mind; he _smelled_ of pain, by the end of it. Memory tainted the feathers of the bird, and Zuko remembered the child he kept failing. Zi Se couldn’t be happy while Fong lived, and Zuko couldn’t care for him the way he deserved to be cared for, but he could do this much. He could offer a promise, that what happened to them would never, ever happen again. 

Memory stained the eagle-hawk and memory stirred its wings and memory saw it screeching and scratching and searching for a way out of this cage, and Zuko knew now that it wasn’t fear anymore. He had wondered what it was living inside of him, but he realised now as he met General Fong’s horrified stare that this animal was Zuko’s to hold, to pet, to unleash. He had demonised it for so long, pushed it back for so long, but here in this library with mere metres between him and the man that had abused it, Zuko decided it was time to let it free. 

He held that bird with scarred hands, and he finally gave it its rightful name. 

_Rage._

____ 

Hakoda could see the bruises around Fong’s neck from his own hands and the still-healing injuries inflicted by Kanut, Hakoda could see his red prison tunic and disheartened gaze, and for a moment, Hakoda was satisfied. There was no way they’d let Fong escape with them. The man would rot here, imprisoned by the very nation he despised. It was worse than death for him, which was the irony of the debate. Seeing Fong so broken, even after only being here a few days, made Hakoda almost sneer at the cruel justice of it all. 

But then he turned to Zuko, and saw someone he didn’t recognise. 

Zuko was stood with his Uncle still, frozen in place, unreadable aside a hand to his sword and two blazing eyes. Hakoda had seen nearly every expression on this boy, but he didn’t recognise this. It wasn’t anger, or grief, or fear; it was a horrible mix of the three. And it twisted Zuko into someone terrifying, someone dangerous, someone he wasn’t. 

“You piece of-.” Kanut growled upon seeing Fong, grabbing a nearby book and wielding it with every intent of smashing Fong’s face in, but the moment he took a step forward, Fong jumped back, hand shooting forward in a warning. 

“Don’t!” He yelled over the ringing of the alarm. “I already told the guards that the Fire Prince is down here. They’ll arrive in a few minutes. It's in all of our best interests to leave now.” 

Hakoda’s stomach fell to his feet, horror and disgust filling him. 

This man had sabotaged them all, had risked everything, just so they would be forced to tolerate him. 

“Well, I suppose we best hurry then.” Zuko said coolly, gaze lidded and dark as he walked back to the group. 

No one moved, all eyes turning to Zuko, but Zuko would look at no one but Fong. For a few seconds, the two of them stared each other down, and the hatred that simmered between them was palpable enough that Hakoda almost pulled Sokka to his side. He didn’t want his son anywhere near this. 

But Zuko was neck-deep in it. Zuko was forced and was now making a choice. 

Hakoda had no idea what was going through his mind, and it made his heart roar in his ears. 

“You.” Sokka jutted his chin at Fong, and Hakoda was proud of the animosity coating every inch of his form. “We need a bridge across the lake, can you earthbend one?” 

Fong hesitated, swallowing, feeling the contempt everyone in the library felt for him. even the new prisoners – was his name Chit Sang? - were glaring, clearly annoyed that their attempts at escape had been foiled by Fong running to the guards. 

“How do I know you won’t kill me the moment you can get out of here?” Fong asked. 

Hakoda worked his jaw. It was time to act like a Chief. 

“We’ll let you cross first. There's a boat on the bank that you can use to get away.” Hakoda said, and Fong considered that for a moment. 

“I mean,” Kanut said with a wry smile that did nothing to hide the hatred in his eyes, “I could still push you off the bridge, or throw books at you to make you fall in. I'm just saying, we’re in a _library_. Plenty of ammunition. I’m a healer, but-.” 

“ _Kanut._ ” Hakoda and Iroh hissed at the same time, because he was decidedly not helping. The alarm was still screaming above their heads, the seconds slipping away from them. They didn’t have time for this. 

Fong seemed to realise this too, because he ground his teeth, reluctant, looking to Zuko. Zuko didn’t flinch, glaring right back at Fong. Hakoda assumed that was new, because Fong didn’t know how to handle it, confusion bunching his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing. 

“And how do I know you won’t try anything?” Fong asked lowly, talking only to Zuko. Hakoda felt sick with the man’s full attention trained on him, felt the urge to shove him away. He'd done enough to that poor boy. 

“You don’t even have your bending.” Fong snarled when the silence became too much. 

Zuko didn’t speak, but he lifted his hand and suddenly, his fingers were coated in fire. Fire the colour of the ocean, the colour of the tribe, the colour of home. Blue. It felt like some sort of sick joke. Iroh gasped, hand flying to his mouth, and Kanut threw him a worried glance, not liking the sound of that, not understanding the implications of this. 

Zuko continued to glare and Hakoda couldn’t take it anymore, stepping between them, pushing Fong back. 

“Zuko won’t hurt you,” he said, “I promise.” 

Fong wasn’t happy with that, but the alarm was still going and it was only a matter of time before the impromptu barricade Suki and Chit Sang’s group were making would break. The promise had left Hakoda’s mouth so easily, and the moment he said it, he felt the words twist, felt Zuko’s glare snap to him. Hakoda had once promised Zuko he’d be treated fairly by Fong. Hakoda had once promised lots of things. 

Fong hesitated a few seconds longer, before realising he had no choice and turning on his heel, stomping towards the glass doors. 

“You changed your mind?” Hakoda asked carefully, looking to Zuko and briefly to Iroh, hoping, praying, that Zuko’s uncle might have been able to get through to him when they spoke privately. A few metres away, Fong was sliding open the glass doors. Zuko watched his every move. 

“Sokka’s right.” Zuko said, but instead of his words breaking the tension, it felt like they were adding to it, thickening the air, and Sokka gulped nervously. “Killing him wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t change what happened. And besides,” Hakoda heard earth dragging and crashing outside, water splashing as a bridge was made across the lake, “you promised him I wouldn’t hurt him.” 

Zuko unsheathed his swords, admiring them with a sense of boredom. No, not boredom. _Barrenness_. He had both blades, Hakoda noticed. It made his heart clatter against his ribs. 

Fong returned cautiously, hovering by the doors, and Zuko finally met Hakoda’s gaze before handing him a single sword. 

“But then again, Chief,” Zuko said as Hakoda slowly took the sword from him, a cold smile curling across the boy’s lips, “it wouldn’t be the first time you broke a promise, would it?” 

Zuko’s smile crashed down like a toppling building as he ducked past Hakoda, and suddenly, the library exploded in blue fire. 

____ 

In Azula’s mind, her brother died when he was thirteen. Such a fight with Father, such an injury, such a damning punishment; there was no way anyone could come back from that. Not even Zuzu in his insufferable relentlessness. He would perish to the sea, or die fighting the Avatar, or his mouth would get him in trouble like it always did. Instead of concerning herself with the petty details of what _could_ happen, Azula simply found it easier to consider Zuko dead the moment she watched his ship set sail, the moment he left her behind. 

Which was why, when Father told her of the letter he received from General Fong, she had no right to be surprised. She'd known for three years that a terrible fate would befall her brother, that he was wounded at thirteen and any time past that was borrowed only for him to bleed out. She didn’t need to mourn him, or miss him, and she didn’t ever catch herself wondering what he was doing in that moment. That would be weak. Azula was not weak. 

But that letter, the one with the Earth Kingdom seal that Azula traced over, flames flickering from her fingertips, her father's study abandoned to the night and the usually locked door slightly ajar, was the first of several. Each time, Father would casually bring it up whenever Azula returned home. Each time, Azula would sneak into his study while he slept and read over the letter’s contents. Each time, Father didn’t respond. 

And each letter, despite the tiresome effort Azula had put in over the years to convince herself it wasn’t so, was undying proof that her brother was very much alive. 

When Azula was eight, she walked with Zuko and Mother through the palace gardens, and Mother had been so busy coddling Zuko that Azula got left behind, and it angered her. Mother never did look at Azula much. So, Azula gave her something to look at. She burned flowers and branches and threw a ball of fire so powerful that it blasted the side of the turtleduck pond. Azula had stood there, mind blank, as the water gushed into the smouldering crater, filling in seconds, the creatures of the pond scurrying in terror. Zuko had been so upset. Agni, he adored that pond. 

Azula’s mind felt like that crater when she read those letters. Smoke wisping from its edges, usually so empty, so hollow of anything aside what was strong and useful. Admitting that Zuko was alive, that he had been this entire time, caused the water to fall, and her mind was filling, filling, filling. What did he look like now? Was he taller? Stronger? Had he learned? How big was the scar on his face? 

Did he ever think of her? 

Azula stomped on the thoughts, cold water splashing up her legs, but they kept seeping through, dripping onto her skin. 

Zuko was getting in her way again, like he used to. 

Azula couldn’t allow that. 

So the moment the alarms of the Boiling Rock began to ring, the moment the guards ran to inform her that Prince Zuko was here, Azula moved. 

Her brother was here. She was going to see if it was necessary to put him in his place. 

(He had been banished, and Azula knew she would have to send him away. It shouldn’t have twisted her up inside, but the traitorous part of her mind remembered the boy who stole dumplings from the kitchens with her. He had always been stupid and clumsy, but he had loved Azula. Truly. 

She wondered; did he still?) 

____ 

It was a deafening chaos of searing blue fire and lumps of angry rock pulled from the floor or the walls or the bank outside. Zuko had fought earthbenders before, but never like this. His first experience with earthbenders saw him focus on saving Uncle before they crushed his hands. His second experience had been Oro and Renmin, and his focus had been getting to the Water Tribe. Both times, his attention was honed on other factors, the fight coming next as no more than an instinct. 

But in the Boiling Rock library as Zuko ducked behind a bookshelf to avoid a pillar of stone about to slam into him, it was just him and Fong. Fong was his only focus, his only target, his only reason. 

Zuko was a good fighter. It was all that he was. He won the Agni Kai with Zhao, and he could beat all of the firebenders on the Erlong when he trained, and he survived Chena, and after four months of Chan, he still hadn’t starved. There was a cold irony in the skills Zuko was using to defeat Fong being skills he picked up in Fong’s own base, because Fong fought like a General. His movements were stiff, proper, by the book. Zuko's had once been, but not anymore. He fought wildly, dirtily, spitting sparks and kicking whips of flame, the blue catching his Dao and running down the blade. He fought to burn. He fought to kill. 

And it was _devastating_. 

Fire caught the wooden bookshelves, engulfing them in a burning, billowing embrace. Slices of stone flew from the walls and left crumbling craters in their wake, crashing into tables and tearing up the floor. Fong and Zuko ducked and twisted around the ruination. Bending fights were always done at a distance. Fire couldn’t beat earth on its own, not like this. He had to get closer. He had his sword. He knew what to do. 

They clashed together in a blinding display of bending, a wall of fire slamming into a wall of earth, and in the detritus of the aftermath, Zuko rushed forward, swinging down his sword and catching Fong’s side. 

Seeing him bleed ignited something in Zuko. Distantly, he’d been aware of the others. Suki and the new prisoners were holding the door, as if someone was trying to get in. Hakoda and Kanut were watching Zuko, following his every move in horror, frozen. Sokka was yelling at Uncle about something, gesturing desperately at the fight. Distantly, Zuko had kept tabs on them, kept Fong away from them. 

But as red bloomed darker than Fong’s tunic, Zuko saw only Fong, and they all slipped away. 

Fong coated his arm in rocks and raised it to catch Zuko’s sword, an almighty _clang_ exploding through the room as the two objects met. Zuko didn’t hesitate to move again, pulling the sword back and slamming it into Fong’s shoulder as the man twisted from his initial attack. Fong growled, the Dao handle grinding against his shoulder blade, and the flash of anger in his eyes turned Zuko’s stomach. Fong's anger had always been such a terrifying thing. It had ruined Zuko, and now, he was seeing it up close, he was causing it. This was dangerous. This was fatal. 

That moment of cowardice, of hesitation, gave Fong an opportunity, and he took it, using another wall of earth to shove Zuko back. Zuko coughed on the dust that swarmed up at him, and when it cleared, Fong was in his face, and he lifted a leg and kicked Zuko in the chest. 

Zuko fell onto his back, pain ripping through him as his broken ribs cried. He tried to roll onto his stomach, hands grasping his torso as if holding the agony might soothe it, but all he did was choke, winded. He couldn’t breathe past the pain, curling into himself as Fong approached with a sick smile. _Get up_ , Zuko hissed at himself. _Get up you idiot_. Zuko always got up. He always got knocked down, but he always got back up. 

But it just _hurt_ , and his body wouldn’t cooperate. It was at its limit. 

General Fong raised his arm, earth coating his hand in a spike, and he aimed for Zuko’s heart, swinging it down and all Zuko could do was clench his eyes shut. He swore he heard Hakoda scream, heard Kanut shout. He swore he heard movement. He opened his eyes to see a flash of armour, a flick of brown hair, and suddenly, a boomerang connected loudly with Fong’s head, hitting hard enough to make him stumble back. 

Zuko stared, open-mouthed, as Sokka ran to his side, grabbing him roughly by the arm and yanking him to his feet. 

“Did you have that on you this whole time?” Zuko hissed, voice hoarse as his ribs thrummed with his racing heart. 

Sokka didn’t laugh. “You have to end this now. This is wrong. Zuko, _please._ Walk away.” 

Something about his desperation, his wide blue eyes, made Zuko stop short. 

When he spoke, he meant every word he said. “I wish I could.” 

Fong’s head was bleeding and he’d retreated to where the bookshelves stood half-toppled and burned. Zuko looked at Sokka one last time before tearing himself away from his hands, jogging after Fong. 

“General Fong,” Zuko sneered, yelling to be heard above the chaos of the blaze and the earth and that fucking alarm, “you don’t look well.” Zuko tipped his head back in a laugh at the words, at the choking memory, and ash and dust shook from his black hair, their pale colours in complete contrast against the black locks. 

Fong hesitated, unsettled by Zuko’s tone, and it gave Zuko enough time to rush forwards, cornering Fong down a corridor of bookshelves, his back to a wall. 

“Do you really think you can beat me?” Fong snarled, hands ready to lift, and this proximity made Zuko’s instincts want to kick in. _Don't look him in the eye. Don't talk back. Don't touch._

Zuko’s smile fell into a determined glare, and he swung his fist, knuckles ablaze, towards Fong, watching the General yelp and jump back a step. Zuko punched again, another step closer, and he let the anger that had festered in him burn in his veins. Punch, and Zuko finally saw fear in Fong’s eyes, the positions swapped. Swing, and this man had taken everything, _everything_ , from Zuko. Duck, and Zuko was ready to give it all back. 

Zuko’s fist swung with a tail of blue fire, and finally, he was close enough to slam his knuckles into Fong’s jaw. The earth he'd been using to try and fend Zuko off shuddered and fell in surprise, leaving the man undefended. Zuko hit him again in the stomach before kicking Fong’s legs out from under him, falling with him until he was pinned on his back by Zuko’s knee to his chest. 

Pain ricocheted through Zuko’s knuckles as he slammed his fist into Fong’s face, punching again and again and again until the tears in Zuko’s eyes let him see nothing but a bloody mess of flesh before him. He could try and say it was the smoke making him cry, but it wasn’t. He felt as he did with Chan; all-consumed by an animalistic need. Then, it had been hunger. Now, it was rage. Both were indomitable. 

“I hate you.” He sobbed. “I hate you, I hate you , _I hate you-_.” 

Someone grabbed Zuko from behind, arms wrapping around his chest and yanking him away from Fong. Zuko kicked and shouted incoherently, elbows finding purchase between ribs, but they didn’t let go. 

“ _No_ , Zuko.” Uncle hissed, grip like iron as he managed to stumble a few steps away from where Fong began to groan up, spitting blood to the side. Alive. 

“He doesn’t get to survive.” Zuko yelled, tears leaving tracks through the ash that had clung to his face. “I have to live with this. I’m stuck with what he did forever. He doesn’t-… He can’t-…" 

Uncle grabbed Zuko’s face, two warm hands against the heat of rage, and forced him to look at him. 

“Zuko, are you truly doing this to protect that boy?” 

The words pierced Zuko and he tried to push his uncle away. Of course he was doing this for Zi Se. This was all for Zi Se. 

“Yes.” Zuko whispered, desperate. 

Uncle’s eyes were sad, shattered. Zuko was breaking his heart. “My nephew,” he said, begging, “martyrdom and self-destruction are two very different things.” 

Zuko shook his head. He couldn’t be dissuaded now. Fong was _right there_. He was weak. Killing him would be easy now. But when Zuko tried to pull away from Uncle’s grip, he didn’t let go. 

“You have come to the crossroads of your destiny.” Uncle said solemnly. “It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose _good_.” 

_How?_ Zuko wanted to scream. How could he choose good when it wasn’t even an option? It had been ripped from him by Fong. 

“The Dragon of the West.” Fong sneered from the floor, wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. He looked wrecked, but that cruelty still drenched him, flooding the room. 

Zuko managed to release himself from Uncle’s grip, pushing him behind him. Fong couldn’t have him. Fong had taken enough. 

“Zuko, it’s not too late to walk away.” Hakoda’s voice sounded, and Zuko snapped his head to the other end of the corridor to see the Chief stood there, face ashen. Everyone else was by the glass doors now, abandoning the barricade to its final minutes before the Boiling Rock guards would inevitably barge in. 

_It's not too late._

It had been too late for Zuko for a very long time. 

But still, it made Zuko hesitate. After everything Hakoda had just witnessed, after all the horrible things he’d watched Zuko do, he was still here. The alarm was shrieking and Zuko could hear door booming beneath the weight of guards and they were running out of time, but he was still here. _This is wrong. Choose good. It's not too late._

Zuko frowned, staring at Hakoda like he could piece together all this uncertainty if he just stared long enough, and that distraction meant he didn’t see Fong. 

He didn’t see Fong as he stumbled to his feet. 

He didn’t see Fong as he reached out a trembling hand. 

He didn’t see Fong as earth shot from the floor, wrapping around Zuko’s wrist. 

The familiar presence of rock killed everything gentle inside Zuko, and innocence died screaming. He cried out, pulling away just in time for his other wrist to remain free. Fong had trapped his right hand, grinning madly, victoriously, but he didn’t know about the dual blades. He didn’t know how Zuko had trained to be proficient with both hands. 

It was a panicked cacophony of rage and terror. Fong lunged forward to end this fight, Uncle cried out, Zuko shoved him back, away from him, and caught his sword in his free hand. He saw the moment Fong realised his mistake, saw the way his eyes widened, and as Zuko thrust forward the blade, he remembered the South Pole. 

A herd of caribou-yak. A spear. Puffs of cloudy breath as the animals wandered obliviously, and glassy eyes that didn’t blink. 

The sword slipped between Fong’s ribs, stabbing through flesh and cartilage and blood and blood and blood. There were tears falling down Zuko’s face as he watched Fong’s slack-jawed horror, as Fong slowly spluttered, falling to his knees, the blade sliding right back out of him and clattering to the floor because Zuko couldn’t even find it in him to hold on. And there, Fong leaned against the bookshelf, choking around the wound, as he realised what Zuko had done. 

Kanut grabbed Zuko’s shoulder, spinning him to face him. Zuko was completely unresisting, body held up through habit and nothing more. 

“I can help him.” Kanut said sternly. “Just say the words, and I can help him.” 

“Spirits, Kanut, what are you waiting for?!” Hakoda yelled in horror, but the healer didn’t blink, his stare trained on Zuko alone. 

“Please...” Fong said weakly, hiccupping around a sob. “Mercy.” 

Kanut was offering Zuko a chance of redemption, a chance to take back what he did in a moment of panic, but Kanut would only go through with it if Zuko let him. He wasn’t like Hakoda. He understood this rage, this pain, and he wouldn’t take it from Zuko. 

Zuko slid his gaze back to Fong. He looked pathetic here, begging for mercy as he died on the floor. 

Their eyes met, green and gold, and Zuko’s voice was a choked rasp when he spoke. 

“Redemption is a human word, General Fong.” 

Kanut’s eyes widened, grip tightening momentarily, before he let Zuko go. 

He'd given his answer. 

“Kanut, _now_.” Hakoda ordered. “Don’t just stand there.” 

Kanut didn’t move, and Zuko turned to the Chief. 

It was disappointment, really, and disgust, that was written on Hakoda’s face. Not for Zuko, but for his actions. Hakoda looked at Zuko now, and he didn’t like what he saw. 

Zuko, with blood on his hands. Zuko, with ash in his hair. 

“There’s a reason they call us ashmakers.” Zuko said, and for all the blank expression on his face, tears were still falling from his eyes. “I don’t belong with you, I never did.” He turned to Uncle. “Take care of Zi Se. You all need to leave. Time's up.” 

Uncle flinched upon those last two words, but Kanut stayed strong. “What about you?” 

Zuko smiled weakly. He was a fragmented thing, a boy made up of broken pieces, and he knew that if he followed Kanut now then the Water Tribe would welcome him back with open arms. They would hold him. They would attempt to piece him together. But the thing with holding shattered crockery in your hands is that, whether it wants to or not, it will cut, and you will bleed, and it will hurt. Zuko had inflicted enough upon the Water Tribe. He would not inflict this. 

“I’m going home.” Zuko said, and Uncle’s eyes fluttered shut in defeat. 

They argued with him, with each other, but there wasn’t enough time and Zuko was hollowed and wordless. Fong died as they spoke. No one even noticed, too consumed by their shouting. Zuko did though. He watched as the shallow breaths finally stopped, watched green eyes close one last time. 

It didn’t feel like safety. 

It didn’t feel like anything. 

When it became apparent that Zuko wouldn’t move, they knew they had to leave. Kanut stepped up. He practically dragged both Iroh and Hakoda away. They crossed the bridge to the war balloon, readied their escape. Sokka waited. He waited, and he stared, and Zuko said nothing. When he had to go, Sokka hesitated, before letting the hatred in his eyes seep into his voice. 

“I thought you’d changed.” 

Zuko hummed, eyes shutting, exhausted. “You should have known better.” 

Kanut came back long enough to tell him they would be at the Western Air Temple, and Zuko pitied the hope in his blue eyes. And just like that, it was over. 

Fong was dead. 

The Water Tribe were forced to leave. 

Uncle was gone. 

Zi Se was safe. 

Azula was coming. 

And this rage, this blood, this hatred was Fire Nation, not Water Tribe, and whether Zuko liked it or not, it wasn’t Earth Kingdom either. The pain within Zuko couldn’t be the cool touch of water or the steady weight of earth. The pain within Zuko was demanding and all-consuming. It was fire. He had lost everything but he knew one thing. One simple thing. The first thing he was ever taught. _Fire spreads._

He had lost himself to this pain; he wouldn’t allow it to burn anyone else. Fire spreads, so he would take it back to its source. The Fire Nation could handle fire, could live with it. 

It was time Zuko returned to what he knew. 

It was time Zuko accepted who he was. 

The Prince of the Fire Nation. Prince of the nation who killed Hakoda’s wife and forced Tomkin’s parents to leave him and sent Lee into a fray he couldn’t handle. 

Prince of hatred. 

Prince of pain. 

Prince of death. 

When the doors crashed open, Zuko was leaning casually against a table, flicking a flame around his knuckles. The guards rushed in, expecting a fight and finding only destruction, and in their midst was a girl with perfect black hair and quick gold eyes. 

“Hello, brother.” Azula said with a cold smile. 

Zuko softened at the sight of her. With Azula, there was no judgement for what he’d done today. With Azula, he was allowed to be angry. 

“Azula,” Zuko nodded in greeting. "It's been a long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i had to do it to em :)
> 
> okay okay stop shouting IT'S ALL UPHILL FROM HERE KIDS! LET THE HEALING COMMENCE! STop crying why are you crying
> 
> (but damn??? zuko your unreliable narrator JUMPED out this chapter??? hakoda doesn't hate you?? pls stop this?? zuko????? omg he has airpods in he can't hear me-)


	29. ii. Zuko Alone - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayop welcome back. How you doing? We... We all okay after the last chapter? *looks at readers huddled in a corner and rocking slightly* yep, seems good to me. Onwards and upwards! So this funky little number refused to be written properly until about YESTERDAY and I have no excuse other than the fact that the fire hazard siblings’ dynamic is SO warped from canon and I've really struggled trying to pin it down, so hope I did good???? Idfk man i just work here. be nice <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i have the most exciting news. A lot of you already know because you deal with my bullshit on tumblr, but for the rest of you who missed it: 
> 
> **THE ART OF BURNING NOW HAS A PODCAST!!!!**
> 
> Yep, you read that right. An actual literal fully functioning proper podcast. It already has an entire episode out, and updates are on Sundays so there will be another one tomorrow. I cannot put into words how floored I am by this whole thing. 
> 
> Link to the podcast here: [The Art of Podcasting](https://anchor.fm/taop1975)
> 
> And also their tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/theartofpodcasting); go chat with them ~~(and tell them to stop slagging me off during the episodes)~~
> 
> a quick thing about when ch30 will be posted is gonna be in the end notes because I don’t want to distract from the ACTUAL FUCKING PODCAST THAT NOW EXISTS, so don’t miss that. 
> 
> Okay you know what’s coming. Honestly i started saying this as a joke because i always thought ending author’s notes was the most awkward thing ever and now it’s just the most cringey ongoing inside joke to ever exist. like it literally sounds like something the hype house would say at the end of tiktoks to try be fun and quirky and Down With The Kids. but I'm not sorry. That being said; DON’T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN’T DO

When Zuko was a child, he used to sleep by the windows during monsoon season. Sometimes he’d get away with it, curled up beneath those thick, expensive curtains, the lightning flashing bright across his skin, rain curling its fingers down the glass. He liked the noise. It was wild, and there was something soothing in that. There was no complexity to rain. It fell where it fell. Neither good nor bad, simply _there_. No one ever tried to temper a storm. 

Now, there was a storm battering Caldera City, a few months early to herald monsoon season but here nonetheless, angry and devastating. Zuko watched it from his bedroom window, watched the lightning thread through the night sky, striking over his face and lighting him up with its white-fury. He couldn’t see through the rain. He never could. But this blindness he felt now... it was different to the blindness he felt as a child. 

He knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly who he was with. He knew exactly what he had done. 

And the most unsettling part of it all? 

Zuko felt fine. 

They took a boat home and Zuko stood on the deck staring at the moon. He had stood like this, on a ship deck staring at the moon, so many times. He'd seen so many things. He remembered when he lost the moon. He hadn’t felt it as he had losing Agni, but these days, he felt connected to it. Agni was his soul; seething and burning, too bright to look directly at, incomprehensible. But Tui... Tui had nestled deep in his heart. 

Azula listened to Zuko’s story and he told her the parts he was willing to share, which is to say it was a very short conversation. He was taken by the Water Tribe, then the Earth Kingdom intervened. He spent four months held as a political prisoner being tortured for information. He escaped. He hunted General Fong down. 

He killed him. 

Azula had laughed here, her eyes narrowing. She'd said she was _almost_ impressed. Zuko dared to question what would become of him now. He wouldn’t be surprised if he became a prisoner of the Fire Nation as punishment for breaching the terms of his banishment. Then he’d have three nations under his belt. _If only all the Air Nomads were still alive_ , a cold part of his mind sneered, _I’d have a full set_. 

Azula gave him a final once over, eyes scrutinising, before deciding that she would take Zuko back to Caldera City not as a prisoner, but as a Prince. _You eradicated an enemy; Father will be proud_. Azula had said. _He will lift your banishment. It’s only logical, now that your bending is stronger. You've learnt your lesson_. Zuko just nodded, focused more on the few inches of height she’d gained, on the weight she’d lost, on the deeper tone of her voice. She was older now. It made sense - it had been three years - but his memories hadn’t expected it. His mind still saw the eleven-year-old girl watching from the side-lines of the Agni Kai. He hadn’t been angry at Father for what he did that day, not at the time, but that, seeing Azula, so young, sat there about to witness her brother in a Fire Duel, _that_ had made him angry. 

She'd been alone for three years. No Mother, no Uncle, no Zuko. He didn’t want to think about the damage Ozai could have done in that time, with no one to tell Azula that he was wrong, that she was enough, so he didn’t think about it. But seeing her talk, seeing her look at him like that with no remorse, no softness, no _anything_ in her eyes as he told her what he’d been through, as she decided he was at least worth sparing; it was proof enough. Ozai had torn out whatever heart Azula had. 

Zuko avoided Mai just as he avoided everyone else. She didn’t want to talk to him, but she wanted to at least see him. That night as he stood on the deck, she managed to catch him. Mai was beautiful. She always had been, of course, but now, she’d sharpened, her hair a little longer, and she was a lot taller than she used to be as she leaned against the railing, elbow brushing Zuko’s arm. He didn’t know how long they stood in silence. She stared at his face, his scars, his pristine new Fire Nation clothes. He stared at the moon. After a while, she let out a small breath, grabbing his hand, squeezing it once, and then she was gone. It was the most comfort he’d felt in a long time, but Zuko found himself rubbing his fingers over the skin of his hands. He’d washed them. He'd washed them so many times. It was no good. 

No amount of water could rid him of the blood. 

He’d been away from Zi Se for three days now. He'd been home for one of those days. He'd walked the palace, the gardens, he’d sat by the turtleduck pond, he’d avoided Mai and pushed out of Ty Lee’s hug. Azula had no time for him because he wasn’t useful. And Father... 

Father hadn’t asked to see him. 

Until now. 

Azula had mentioned that Father was in a meeting, but when it finished, he would almost certainly want to speak with Zuko. He was waiting for the official summons, sat on his windowsill like a brooding child, staring at the storm. He thought of his father, of what he might say, of if he would banish him again or worse, and he thought of all those days, weeks, months spent with Fong, and how Father could have helped but didn’t. 

Zuko sighed, fogging up the cold window, and his breath was short because breathing deep made his ribs rattle, and his hands smelled of blood no matter what soaps he used. 

The most unsettling part of it all was that, when he thought of the sword stabbing into Fong, Zuko always felt completely fine. 

He was the Fire Prince, and the Fire Prince was heartless, loveless, merciless. He spent thirteen years uncomfortable with the title, and once, he fought against it. He truly thought he could change things. But that day showed Zuko his only option was acceptance. He spent three years travelling the world in an attempt to befit his title, but he was too hot-headed, too immature, too short-sighted. He felt like a war was waging inside him. Half of him tried to be the Fire Prince, the other half told him that was wrong. With the Water Tribe, he was tempted with the possibility of distinction. Maybe _the Fire Prince_ and _Zuko_ were two different people. Maybe the two sides within him just needed to merge and create a third option. Not good, not bad, but _Zuko_. 

But killing Fong ended the battle within him. Whether there had been two fighters or three, there was only one victor. 

The Fire Prince. 

Zuko was unable to change the implications of that. It had always been this way, and it always would be this way, and nothing he did or didn’t do would change that. 

There was a sense of relief in accepting not good or bad, but simply what _was_. 

There was a sense of catharsis in giving up. 

“Why so downcast, Zuzu?” Azula’s voice sounded, smooth and low, and Zuko looked up to see her stood in the doorway, arms crossed over a casual red robe. She was supposed to be in bed. Her duties were over for the day, and Zuko had heard the soft click of her door as she retired to her chambers down the hall. She hadn’t bothered with him all day. Her hair was down, her make-up was off. Azula stood before him as a little girl, so painfully young that it hurt, looking so much like Mother that it hurt, but she never let anyone see her like this. 

So why was she here? 

“What do you want, Azula?” Zuko asked, nonplussed, turning his eyes back to the storm outside. He wasn’t scared of Azula. He used to be; she used to _terrorise_ him, for Agni’s sake. But now, he felt he’d seen true evil, and despite what his past self might have thought, Azula didn’t make that cut. Besides, Azula was logical. If she wanted him dead, she would have killed him already. 

“My, my,” Azula sighed, “such an attitude. Can I not worry about you, brother? 

Zuko scoffed, turning back to her with a sharp smile. “Concern has never been your specialty.” 

Her face darkened at that, scowling at the insinuation that she wasn’t good at something, and she really hadn’t changed nearly as much as Zuko had thought, had feared. If Zuko closed off his mind, he could pretend they were those kids from his memories again. Him, watching storms from a window. Her, pinching him awake. Both of them bloodless. Both of them innocent. In his head, they still had a chance. 

Zuko’s smile fell and he worked his jaw, schooling his expression into something blank. There was no use daydreaming. He was in the Fire Nation. They were the Fire Prince and Fire Princess. They had killed people. They had done horrible things. They stood for horrible things. They were horrible. 

A sudden fondness stabbed through him, because at least they were horrible together. 

It was a little funny, how pathetic they truly were. 

“Fine,” Azula huffed, dropping her shoulders with an elegant eyeroll, “I want to know what you plan to say to Father. I was generous enough to put in a good word for you. I don’t want you and your big mouth ruining that. It would be a waste of my time.” 

Zuko thought on that for a second. _A good word._ Azula never did anything without personal gain. That didn’t mean she never did things for others, as much as she tried to deny it, but it meant even helping acts had some form of ulterior motive. She was raised to always move herself upwards even if it meant treading on those in her way, and sometimes, she’d offer a hand up while standing on the backs of others. This was that hand. She was playing her cards. Zuko just needed to figure out where he stood in her mind. 

He was a threat to her, he knew that. She'd had three years to solidify her position as Father’s favourite. Not that there was ever much question around it, but she made it clear how easily the Fire Nation continued in Zuko’s absence, made it clear she could uphold the Crown without her big brother at her side. Really, she had made it clear that if Zuko died, it wouldn’t be an issue. So for him to show up now, still the heir - it challenged her; stones crumbling from the cliff face of Father’s favour with the threat of a landslide. 

She ought to be vicious with him, like she used to be, but instead, she was stood before him with a strange glint in her eyes. Azula had forgotten that Zuko was the only person in the world who could tell when she was hiding something. That was the joke of it. _Azula always lies._ He knew when she was lying, but he'd always convince himself that _this time_ , she had decided to tell the truth. He always wanted to see the good in her, whether it existed or not. 

Zuko had always been able to see Azula, even when Mother and Father hadn’t. And he saw her now, in the shadows of his room. She wasn’t hateful when she looked at him. No, there was curiosity in her glare as she tried to figure out who stood before her, where he connected to the brother from her memories, and there was also a slight golden shift of something Zuko might have missed if he wasn’t so well acquainted with it. 

Anger. 

Zuko narrowed his eyes. Azula was a lot of things, but angry? She was always the calm one, the serene one, like ice, while Zuko burned and made a mess of things at her side. Was this new, or had it revealed itself the moment Zuko lost the energy to look at Azula with spite? He didn’t want Father’s favour anymore, and that made Azula his sister, not his enemy. She looked different from that perspective. 

“I don’t need you prepping me on what to say. I'll be fine.” Zuko said, and something terse in his tone made her straighten, as if realising she’d let the mask fall ever so slightly. 

“I’m not worried about _you_.” She hissed. “You’ve been gone three years; I need to ensure you remember your place.” 

Had her threats always sounded so practised? Zuko didn’t even flinch anymore. 

But there was a catch to her words, an over-sharpness. Azula never did anything without purpose, but something about what she just said made her defensive. _Not worried about you._ Was she ever? _Remember your place_. Zuko had made it clear he was coming to the Fire Nation only to come home, not to tread on her toes. He’d even shrugged off a comment she made about him being removed from the line of succession as punishment for breaching his banishment. She’d get the throne, which suited Azula, and he'd still be the Fire Prince, which was all that suited Zuko. 

_You've been gone three years._

There it was. 

Said too quick, as if she’d agonised over it, not even a beat of hesitation, as if she knew it down to the month. 

“You’re angry with me.” Zuko said quietly, and Azula blinked; her only telling of surprise. 

Her smile curled into something cruel. “Generally, yes, the thought of your existence makes one easily enraged.” 

“I was banished, ‘Zula.” Zuko said, voice still steady, ignoring her goading. 

Her smile fell violently. “Don’t,” she snarled, “call me that.” 

“I was banished, ‘Zula.” Zuko repeated, the air in the room suddenly thick, like the smoke that had choked the Boiling Rock library. “I had to leave. I had no choice.” 

He expected her to yell at him, or even try and hurt him, or leave, or anything other than what she did instead. Zuko and Azula didn’t _do_ talking. Neither of them were very good at it, and they bothered each other too much to waste the effort. But they also weren’t the Zuko and Azula they used to be. Zuko imagined if Father had sent Azula after him, or if Zuko had arrived here with his own motives to step right back into competition with Azula, then their relationship would be right back to the visceral toxicity it used to be. But as it was, they found each other by accident, and Zuko was surrendering. To her, to Father, to who he was. 

And Azula... she’d noticed that difference in him, that difference that stemmed from something so dark, so twisted, so evil. 

And she’d responded in kind, because instead of yelling or lashing out, Azula let her eyes flutter shut, before opening them, still smiling as if that would cover her words, expression accusing because she couldn’t quite manage _pained_. 

“You left me.” 

It was a mean accusation, and Zuko sucked in a shocked breath. 

He remembered the Agni Kai, the crowd, the helplessness, the _pain_. He let his fingers reach and slowly touch his scar, brushing the familiar edges of it, rough, ugly. He thought of those months healing afterwards, consumed by desperation and hiding it behind anger. Uncle. 

“I had no choice.” 

“You had _everything_.” Azula hissed, voice a growl of resentment. “Little Zuzu, always coddled. You fooled Mother, you fooled Uncle, even the servants loved you.” She scoffed and it pierced through the room. “But Father is always right. You are _weak_.” 

Zuko sucked in a breath, before releasing it. He realised he didn’t want to argue with Azula, because as quickly as his hatred of her had returned, she’d said the words _’Father is always right’_ , and he remembered that she was a victim of this palace too. They had been subject to different kinds of violence, one hatred, one hateful, but it was still violence. 

“Whatever.” Zuko sighed, and Azula’s lips parted in shock. 

“Aren’t you going to argue with me?” She said, because now he wasn’t playing her game. 

“I,” Zuko pushed himself up, swallowing a groan because _Agni_ , his ribs were worse than before, “am going to wait for Father.” 

He walked past Azula, never close enough to touch, and ignored the acidic glare trained on him. She didn’t know what to say. Zuko was quick to rise, quick to anger, he always had been. He was so easy to tease as a child. But he was grown now. Things were different now. _He_ was different now. He didn’t _care_. 

“You know,” Azula called after him, almost desperate with the need to wound, “I preferred you _before_ you got tortured by the Earth Kingdom.” 

The bluntness was supposed to be cutting, but Zuko found himself smirking, turning on his heel to walk backwards a few paces. 

“And I preferred you when you were five.” Zuko said easily, before turning again and walking away, leaving Azula behind. 

____ 

This was Zuko’s home, his childhood. These walls, these corridors, these flickering shadows and swooping orange torches, these reds and golds, all of it oozed over and around him and whispered with bated breath; _homeland_. Just a few months ago, he would have given everything to be back here, to be the Fire Prince. He would have done whatever it took. But now, he was here by some accident, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to be home, but that he didn’t _care_. Zuko thought he could be sat in the middle of the Si Wong Desert right now and he would feel this same barrenness within him as he did the hallways of the Royal Palace. 

When Zuko got out of Fong’s base, he tried to drown himself in apathy. It was a coping mechanism, clear as day, and it was on purpose. He turned the taps of his feelings, he pulled the curtains tight, he held the blanket close. All of it fake, a mask to hide his true feelings. He had been angry that whole time, and hurt, and scared, but he made the conscious decision to hide it; birdcage to the wild animal. 

Now, things were different. There was nothing to hide. The cage was open and the bird was dead. Zuko just felt _empty_. He thought of Fong and didn’t care, he walked the corridors of his childhood and didn’t pause, he smelt blood and just kept living with it. 

This was good. This was what he wanted. Killing Fong was the solution to all that darkness that twisted him up inside. Zuko had known that he was willing to commit the unforgivable if it meant protecting Zi Se, but he’d also known, quietly, that it was the only way to rid himself of the pain. He had too much anger in him, all that rage clawing at his marrow, and it needed out. 

It died with Fong, and now, Zuko felt nothing at all. 

The royal family’s portraits lined the walls of the palace’s main corridor, each portrait towering high and bordered with curling gold, cast in shuddering orange from nearby torches. Every Fire Lord, going back hundreds of years. As Zuko walked, he felt the eyes of generations of power, each step taking him closer to the present, each person in each portrait growing crueller and crueller as the Fire nation lost its way more and more. Until Zuko froze. 

He'd stared at this portrait before, limping down this corridor with the aid of one of the servants who took pity on him, his trouser leg hanging in tatters to reveal the searing burns beneath. He hadn’t cried the entire time, even though he was just twelve, but as he stared at Fire Lord Sozin’s foreboding face, it had felt like something snapped in Zuko. After all, it was Sozin’s legislation. 

Zuko had felt so broken beneath the painted man’s stare. Unworthy, _unnatural_. He knew it was his own abomination, but for a moment, Zuko imagined himself screaming, releasing all his pent-up heartbreak, fire on his breath and sparking Sozin’s robes, the canvas catching light like kindling. This part of the palace was almost completely decorative anyway, and in that moment, Zuko wanted to burn it to the fucking ground. 

But he didn’t. He cried instead, and he did nothing, and now he was back. 

“Your Highness,” a servant bowed before Zuko, appearing silently from the alcoves, and Zuko startled, “the Fire Lord demands your presence.” 

_Demands_. Never _requests_ , never _would like_. Ozai was punctuated by imperatives and ice, and he was all Zuko had now. Ozai and Azula. They were all he had left. 

Zuko distantly remembered thanking the servant, and then his feet were carrying him to the throne room, muscle memory. How many times had he and Azula snuck in here to eavesdrop? He remembered the last time, watching Father talk to Grandfather. After everything Zuko had been through, that was the day his life truly ended. All this pain, and it could be traced back to one source, one moment. 

Zuko stopped in his tracks, staring up at the entrance to the throne room, only a red curtain between him and Father. 

Father, who banished him. 

Father, who branded him, 

Father, who left him to Fong’s cruelty. 

Father, who would seal his fate. 

He could die here, Zuko realised belatedly. Father could end it all right now. Such a threat, yet Zuko’s foggy mind could only conjure Zi Se. The kid’s innocent grin twisted something inside, and he winced. He must have breathed in too deep, must have pressed his ribs too much. 

Three years for this. 

A man’s life for this. 

Zuko pulled back the curtain. 

____ 

Darkness bracketed the throne room, impenetrable walls of black trapping Zuko, the walk directly before him the only thing he could see, footsteps echoing like catapults being fired. And there, at the end of the room, sat amongst raging orange flames and completely unfazed by them despite Zuko’s stomach roiling at the sight, was Father. 

Zuko didn’t know what he expected, but the rigid formality of it, the way he couldn’t even make out his father’s face through the flames, sent a shiver over him, and he realised something. Zuko was so _bitter_ , but still, when he thought of how he was facing a man he hadn’t seen since he held a fire to Zuko’s face, he felt scared too. It seemed he’d always have room to be scared of his father, no matter what happened in his life. 

The scariest part was that he knew this was the worthiest he’d ever been of his father’s love. He was scared it would be enough, that this was the ungodly price, and he was scared that it wouldn’t be enough, that even after he’d sacrificed everything, Father wouldn’t love him. 

It was disquieting. Zuko killed a man. In return, he was gifted numbness. But this sudden wave of bitter fear was anything but numb. The universe was breaking its end of the deal. _Go back_ , Zuko wanted to plead, _go away_. 

But it didn’t, because Zuko knew he had to bow now. On his knees, just like in the Agni Kai. He breathed in deep, ignoring how it stabbed his ribs, meditative, exhaling through grit teeth, and kneeled before his father. 

“You have been away for a long time.” Ozai said, and Zuko grit his teeth harder, just like he used to back in the cell. _Is that it?_ He almost asked. _Is that all you have to say?_

“I see the weight of your travels has changed you.” Ozai continued, and Zuko swallowed a laugh. _Changed_ was an understatement. _Weight_ was an understatement. “I told you to bring home the Avatar, and you did not do that. But your sister tells me you have found your honour through other means. You refused to let your pride be tarnished. You hunted and rid the Fire Nation of an enemy. Azula said she was amazed and impressed with your power and ferocity. She said your firebending has finally reached standards befitting the royal family.” Father’s voice had been a gravelly husk, but here, he stood, towering above the flames, able to cast them forward to engulf Zuko if he so pleased. Zuko turned rigid, but Father just stepped forward, coming into the light, towering over him. 

“You have redeemed yourself.” Father said. Redeemed of something innocent by doing the irredeemable. Zuko felt sick. 

“I am proud, Prince Zuko.” Father said, and Zuko stopped breathing altogether. “ _Welcome home._ ” 

____ 

Father was planning something serious, so serious that he didn’t even want Azula to be privy to it. Apparently, he’d been allusive for weeks now. Azula was antsy, unaccustomed to being left out of the Fire Nation’s affairs, but she didn’t complain. They weren’t allowed to complain. Not even the next day when they were told - not _offered_ , or _asked_ – that they would be spending the night at Ember Island with Mai and Ty Lee, just like they did when they were _children_. 

Zuko didn’t particularly care. He didn’t like being around Father because it was making him think dangerous things, reiterating words spoken from tribesmen who shouldn’t have felt so safe, and if it had been hard being away from the Water Tribe back at Fong’s base, being away from them now was agonising. Because at Fong’s base, Zuko was held back by earth and rock and force. But here in the Fire Nation, Zuko was chained by his own choice, his own bloody hands. He couldn’t spread this fire, smear this blood, over the only joy his life had felt in so long. He couldn’t do that to them. 

But now he was stood on a beach, no sign of last night's storm, Agni blazing over the sand and turning it into a stretch of pure gold, the waves calm as they crawled up the shore, rushing back down, trying again and again and sweeping pebbles and shells with them, and it smelt of salt and fresh air and easiness. It smelt Water Tribe. And the last beach Zuko had been on was in Gaoling, and he watched the ocean like this. Then, Tomkin and Nanook had joined him, splashing water and giving smiles so easily. Now, Zuko was alone. 

“You’re hurt.” 

Or at least he thought he was. 

Mai’s voice was gloomy, no matter what she said. It had taken Zuko years to learn the nuances of it, to learn she wasn’t truly that moody all the time. Zuko turned to see her walking towards him, leaving the spot where Ty Lee was sunbathing, various teenage boys crowding around her. This version of gloomy-Mai was rare. Her sharp eyebrows were slightly furrowed, lips pursed; she was upset. Zuko flicked his gaze between her and Ty Lee, and understood. He wasn’t the only one who shared his secrets in the Boiling Rock cupboard that day when they were kids. 

“I’m fine” Zuko said, turning back to the sea. 

“Sit down.” Mai said, ignoring him in favour of tugging the sleeve of his tunic, pulling him down with her as she crossed her legs. 

“Where did you even get that?” Zuko scoffed as she pulled a small first aid kit from her sleeve. 

“Found it in the house.” Mai said, rooting through it. “I carry multiple knives with me at all times; I like to know where these things are.” 

It was strange, how easily they fell back into friendship. They hadn’t talked about _them_ , about their practical engagement in the eyes of their parents, at all since he got back. Mai knew Zuko couldn’t handle that right now, so she let him be. It was like these three years of absence hadn’t happened; it was just Mai and Zuko, and that was easy. 

“I’m fine, Mai.” Zuko tried again when Mai looked at him expectantly, wielding some rubbing alcohol with the same ferocity as one of her knives. 

“I didn’t actually ask.” Mai said, tawny eyes taking to flicking over him. If he wouldn’t tell her where he was injured, she would find the injuries herself. Zuko knew Mai wasn’t a patient girl, and her methods were far from soft. It was only a matter of time before she started poking him, and if he winced, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Zuko caved. “I’ve got an old cut on my leg that’s still healing, and a couple minor ones on my back. Oh, and he caught my shoulder during-, when I-.” 

Zuko’s sentences shredded themselves, and he swallowed thickly. Mai nodded in understanding, knowing who Zuko meant by _‘he’_ if only by the hatred in his tone alone. 

“Sleeve.” Mai said, and Zuko sighed once more, the breath hitching in his throat. Sighing dramatically was much harder with broken ribs, Zuko was noticing. He slowly tugged at his tunic, refraining from lifting his arms after what happened last time he tried that, to reveal his shoulder, a messily applied bandage now stained red covering his pale skin. He hadn’t let the servants come near him. He hadn’t even let them help him dress. Mai was going to have to touch him. The thought of that made Zuko’s stomach bottom out. And Mai was his _friend_ , he loved her, he trusted her. If he didn’t want Mai near him, then the servants were a different territory entirely. 

Slowly and with a gentleness Mai rarely allowed, her fingers reached forward to peel off the bandage, the skin beneath it pulling with a flash of pain. It wasn’t a bad cut, but Zuko knew he probably should have changed the bandage sooner. 

The rest of his injuries from Fong’s base were fading into the background now. He'd stitched what needed stitching and salved what needed salving, and he’d cleaned his wounds everyday back at the White Lotus camp. He only stopped when he left for Fong, and hadn’t seen much need to lapse back into that. The way Mai was tutting beneath her breath said she disagreed with that statement. Zuko just worked his jaw, ignoring the way his heart danced as her fingers touched his collarbone. In the past, he would have clung to this feeling, would have chased it and milked it for all its worth, would have prayed that maybe he was finally feeling what he was supposed to. But he knew enough now to know it was a waste of time. He loved Mai, but he could never be in love with her. 

“Azula says your ribs are ruined.” Mai said conversationally as she applied fresh bandages. Zuko swallowed, trying to avoid the topic. The thing is, the likelihood was that Chan had only fractured a rib or two when they fought, but Zuko’s insistence on moving and ignoring the injury worsened them. That kick to the chest from Fong had been the final straw. He didn’t hear the crack amongst the chaos of the library, but he felt it. His ribs were broken, and Zuko hadn’t told anyone because he knew the only cure for broken ribs was rest. 

Zuko had hardly stopped moving since he got home. He went on walks. He never sat still for too long. It made him restless; he felt confined to his mind, his memories. If it got out that he needed to rest, to not strain himself, that might be taken off him. 

So, Zuko drew himself up despite the wave of pain it caused and confidently said; “My ribs are fine.” 

Mai narrowed her eyes, leaning back so Zuko could pull his tunic back in place. For a few seconds, it was quiet as she thought, before she sighed, flicking at his leg. 

“Let me see.” 

Zuko conformed easier with this one. Fong had given him this during their last _interrogation_ together. Zuko had stitched it weeks ago, and it had been healing nicely. Admittedly, he hadn’t checked it in days, but what was the worst that could have happened-. 

Zuko pulled up his trouser leg, unwrapping the bandages to reveal the skin beneath, and his mind immediately blanked. Mai gasped, eyes widening, as they both stared at his leg. There were old scars sitting jagged like snowy cliffs, and one burn scar longer than the others, curling like a whip. It ended around Zuko’s thigh, the same harsh red as the burn on his face. 

But that wasn’t what Zuko and Mai were staring at. Fong’s cut stretched from below Zuko’s knee all the way to his ankle, and it had been starting to scar a little messily thanks to Zuko’s unpractised stitches, but now, the scarring process seemed to have stopped, giving way to a horrific red flush around the cut, stripes of red slashing from either side like his veins had opened beneath the skin. 

“Well that doesn’t look good.” Zuko muttered monotonously. 

“No, it really doesn’t.” Mai’s tone remained glum. “Zuko, I think it’s infected.” 

“You _think?_ ” 

“I’m not actually a healer, you know.” Mai snapped, and Zuko paused, realising she was right. The only experience Mai had was a lifetime of treating her own grazes, and unlike Zuko, she had never been stupid enough to get any infected. 

“I’m... I’ll clean it and bandage it to stop anything else getting on it. And, um...” Mai worried at her lip, and Zuko couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But Agni, after everything, _of course_ something had to get infected. This was _Zuko_ ; lucky to be born and fucked up in every other category. So fucked up that he managed four months in horrible conditions without any injuries getting infected, using the small amounts of water they were given to clean his wounds as best he could, because back then he needed to keep going for Zi Se’s sake. So fucked up that he couldn’t even see a healer, because he couldn’t have strangers touching him and he couldn’t let his mind wander to Kanut and it was all so _ridiculous_ , because Zuko was starting to be the cause of his own pain. He always had been, really. 

_Martyrdom and self-destruction are two very different things._

Zuko’s laugh died in his throat, and he stared at the cut, the lightning-strike red lines branching from it. The earlier stages of an infection. Nothing to worry about too much if he _just sat with a healer_. Zuko frowned, an uneasiness settling over him that he couldn’t quite place. 

He had done this. 

Not Fong. Not Ozai. Zuko. 

He was hardly his own biggest fan, and he could list his shortcomings until Agni set upon the beach, but... but whether he did what he did for Zi Se or not, Zuko still suffered through so much, survived through so much, lost so much, that doing this to himself now just wasn’t fair. 

He owed himself enough to stop this. 

Which was why when Mai insisted he see a healer the moment they got back to the palace, Zuko sighed, and promised he would. 

____ 

That night, Zuko was in the same room he slept in every summer as a child. He lay in this same bed that always had sand amongst the sheets no matter how hard Zuko tried to clear it, in this same room positioned at the end of the corridor closest to the sea so that he could hear the waves in the distance, in this same house that held the only happy memories Zuko really had of his childhood. There were too many memories here, as Zuko sat upright in bed, breathing shallowly and staring at the darkness. Pictures on the wall, Father’s hand on Zuko’s shoulder, grip like iron, Mother at his side. Seashells on the shelves that Zuko liked because they were pretty and he was young and stupid. A burn on the bottom bedpost from when he and Azula got distracted re-enacting the final battle from Love Amongst The Dragons. Zuko always played the villain. 

He couldn’t sleep, but he knew it wasn't because of the shroud of memories hanging over him. Zuko still hadn’t quite got his sleeping pattern back to normal. His firebending was back, his chi had warmed once again within him, but there was still something slightly off-kilter with Zuko’s connection to Agni. He knew it just needed time, like all wounds. 

That didn’t make it any easier. He either slept like the dead or he didn’t sleep at all, but tonight... tonight was different. Just like the night before. 

Zuko had woken up in a cold sweat, a scream caught behind teeth and the sheets twisted around his body, tight enough that the panic of the nightmare didn’t subside with lucidness. Zuko had kicked until his back was pressed firmly to the headboard, knees tucked to his aching chest. 

Nightmares weren’t new, but every night since he killed Fong saw the same thing. 

That _moment_. 

The sword stabbing into Fong’s chest. 

Kanut’s offer of redemption. 

Hakoda’s wide eyes. 

The ash. The blood. The _rage_. 

Zuko was fine. When he thought of Fong during the day, he was fine. When he pictured the life leaving Fong’s eyes, he was fine. When he remembered exactly what he’d done and who he chose and _who he was_ , Zuko was completely fine. 

But the moment he fell asleep, his mind tormented him. It showed him visions of what could have happened, it twisted Hakoda’s face into one of horror, it repeated Sokka’s words again and again. _This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong._

Zuko was on his feet before his mind fully caught up with him, storming out of the room. He needed to get away from it, from the crushing past and the terrifying present. He was _fine_. He was supposed to be fine now. He got to be fine. He owed himself enough to be _fine_. 

So why was his mind trying to convince him that he wasn't? 

There was Tui again, white light spilling over the beach and turning the sand into silver satin, balanced on the lip of the ocean. The beach was nicer at night, quieter. 

But as Zuko kept walking, a gentle breeze stirring the robe he’d pulled on before he fled his room like a coward, he realised the beach wasn’t entirely empty. 

“You should be asleep.” Zuko said carefully, watching Azula’s every move. She was stood just out of reach of the waves, watching as they surged forward, never quite catching her bare feet. Her hair was down, her arms crossed over her chest. Zuko was suddenly worried she was cold, but this was _Azula_. They didn’t worry about each other. Not like that. 

Azula didn’t flinch when he spoke, but her shoulders tensed ever so slightly; the only indication that she’d been distracted. 

“Why are you up?” She asked, ignoring his attempt at concern. 

Zuko hesitated, before standing at her side. For a few seconds, he battled with what to tell her. They'd been enemies, opposites, for so long, that now it felt strange to be side by side. But Zuko supposed they were now. Azula was the only person in the world who might understand. 

“Can’t sleep,” Zuko said simply, staring at the ink-black sea, “this place is like a ghost. Those summers we spent here seem so long ago. So much has changed.” 

Zuko remembered chasing Lu Ten over the sand dunes. He remembered Mother’s soft touch around his shoulders. He remembered Uncle teaching him how to build sand castles. 

But that was a lifetime ago. Lu Ten was dead and Mother was gone and Uncle had left. 

Azula was still here though. 

“Come on, you’re cold.” Zuko sighed, giving in. “Let’s start a fire.” 

Azula glared daggers at him at the insinuation that she might be cold, but then something changed. A muscle in her cheek jumped, her eyebrows furrowing a little. 

“There's plenty of stuff to burn in the house.” She said sternly, and Zuko thought he understood what she was trying to say. The ghosts of Ember Island were haunting her just as much as Zuko. 

Zuko looked back out at the ocean, hand tentatively reaching for the necklace still hanging against his chest. “The trouble with burning is that once it starts,” Zuko said quietly, “it’s hard to stop.” 

Azula looked at him then, and he waited for her to mock him. She would say ‘you’re pathetic’ and she would lose her temper when he didn’t rise to her like he used to, and they’d deepen this chasm between them. But the silence continued and Azula kept staring. 

And then she spoke, just as quietly as Zuko had, as if she was committing treason. “When I walked into that library,” she said slowly, “it was absolutely decimated. Did you feel better? When you looked at all you’d destroyed, at the ash, did it make you feel better?” 

Zuko opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what she was reaching for, he didn’t know if she was even playing this strange game of authenticity that Zuko had started. Was she building up to push him down, or was she actually trying to mend something between them? Azula and Zuko had started as fractures, being pushed into a sharp break that left a bruise with each inhale, but they could at least try. She was all he really had now. 

So, Zuko thought hard on her question. He reluctantly remembered that damned library, the devastation he’d caused. It had been an afterthought at the time, but he could see it clearly in his head now, and it truly was horrifying. He wished Azula hadn’t had to see that. Zuko thought harder, and forced his reeling mind to remember how he’d felt. How did the fire sound? How did the ash taste? How did that sudden shift of power feel? 

“Yeah.” Zuko choked out. “Agni, yeah, it did.” 

Azula nodded once, as if unfazed. “You know the hall of portraits in the palace?” 

Her question was random enough to snap Zuko from the shadows of his broken mind, and he frowned, nodding in confirmation. 

“Sometimes,” Azula continued, voice still so infuriatingly calm, “I walk down there, and I look at all the previous Fire Lords, and I stop in front of Azulon. Azulon, for who I was named. That's our legacy, brother. To be in that hallway.” 

Zuko knew the crushing weight of those portraits. He'd felt it only recently when he stared at Sozin. He never knew Azula felt the same. He felt like he was meeting her for the first time. 

“Do you _want_ to be in that hallway?” Zuko asked carefully. 

Azula turned to him with a slightly manic smile. "No,” she hummed contemplatively, before giggling, "I want to burn it to the ground.” 

She spoke like she did about most things, disdainfully, arrogantly, but as the seconds dragged on with Zuko only staring in surprise, he noticed how her eyes widened ever so slightly, the edges of her smile twisting down, as if she’d accidentally revealed too much. Agni, she reminded Zuko of how he’d been when he first boarded the Ullaakut. Except Azula wasn’t surrounded by threats and strangers; she was alone with her brother. 

Sadness clawed its way up Zuko’s throat, and he remembered what she said the day before. _You left me_. He’d thought she was accusing him, trying to scratch into his memories, but now, Zuko considered the words. 

And he supposed it was true. 

Through no fault of his own, Zuko had abandoned Azula to... to this. This paranoid lovelessness. This horror at who they were. In three years, he’d thought about her a lot, but he’d always stopped himself from ever worrying or feeling guilty. She had been selfish and mean. She still was – there was no doubt about that – but Zuko had been given an outside perspective of their lives, and he saw that she had been manufactured this way. 

They had both been weaponised. 

Zuko, against himself. 

Azula, against the world. 

And Agni, they were both just kids. 

“I’m sorry, Azula.” Zuko whispered, golden eyes staring at her face, memorising it. His baby sister. “What Father did to me... that was wrong. I know that now. I need you to know that.” Zuko said, swallowing, _a father is someone who cares about you_. “But I’m still your big brother. I was still supposed to take care of you. I'm sorry I was never any good at it.” 

Azula had frozen, breath caught in her throat, expression shuttered off aside a slightly dazed look in her eye. It was silent for a long time between them before Azula spoke again, voice smooth, like she’d been waiting to ensure there were no cracks in her composure. 

“I don’t need you babying me, Zuzu.” She rolled her eyes, tone mocking. “I don’t have a sob story like you. I don’t need a,” she laughed here, a sharp, cutting thing, “a _big brother_.” 

“Whether you need one isn’t relevant.” Zuko said quickly, surprising himself with his own determination to get the words out. "You have one. I’m your brother. You can hate me and push me away, but I’m still your brother, and I should’ve... I don’t know, I should've done more when we were kids. We both should have done more for each other.” 

Because that was the thing; this burden wasn’t entirely Zuko’s. Azula was horrible to him. She said mean things and worded them in the most hurtful way she could. She got in his head, beneath his skin. She did everything in her power to keep him kicked down. 

Zuko remembered the fights with Chan. He fought because he was starving, but there was a sense of acquiescence to it. Spider wanted the prisoners to fight, he designed their meals so that they would fight, so they fought. Zuko did horrible, inhumane things to his fellow prisoners, because it earnt him food. 

Azula was only earning Father’s favour. Father pitted Zuko and Azula against each other, so Azula fought Zuko every step of the way. 

Zuko remembered how, when it came to an end, he had bowed before Chan and they exchanged a silent forgiveness. They understood. They were the only ones who understood. They had both done terrible, terrible things to each other, but neither had much choice. 

Zuko had left him behind too. 

“We could be better, ‘Zula.” Zuko said softly, eyes pleading. “I don’t want to compete with you anymore. I’m done. I'm just... done. The world is so _terrible_ ,” Zuko turned back to the sea, smelling blood, “but me and you, we don’t have to be. Not to each other. Not anymore.” 

The waves pushed and pulled, glistening beneath the moonlight, and it was peaceful. Zuko was stood beside _Azula_ , and he felt peaceful. It was almost enough to make him laugh, but Azula was thinking, staring so studiously at his scar that he was scared to so much as move. 

“You’re weak.” Azula finally said, lips curling back in disgust. “You’re still weak.” 

Zuko shut his eyes in defeat and Azula turned to walk away, but then she paused, sighing loudly. 

Instead of leaving, Azula sat down beside a pile of charred driftwood, a quick spark jumping from her hand to light the fire, bathing the surrounding beach in orange. 

“Well, sit down then.” She said sharply. "You said it’s cold.” 

Zuko felt himself smiling at her, slowly sitting down beside his sister. 

____ 

They sat like that for hours. They hardly spoke. Azula shut down everything Zuko tried to say, but she didn’t leave. It was only when they saw the first few rays of sunrise on the horizon that she turned to face Zuko fully, golden eyes hard, expression smooth. 

“Let me see.” She said, and he blinked in confusion. 

“See what?” 

“Your fire.” Azula furthered like he was being stupid. “I only know what you’ve told me.” 

Zuko frowned, before realising she was right. She hadn’t actually seen the haunting blue of his fire yet, but she hadn’t even questioned it when he told her. 

“But you told Father...” Zuko started, confused. Why would she tell Father about his bending if she hadn’t even seen it, going only off what Zuko told her? A good word. She said she put a good word in. Why? 

“Please,” Azula examined her nails with a sense of boredom, “you were coming home with no Avatar after being found breaching the terms of your banishment. If I didn’t sugar-coat things a little, he might have killed you on the spot. That wouldn't be any fun.” 

Zuko stared dumbly for a few seconds, speechless. Azula had... she’d protected him. And he didn’t even think she realised she had just yet. 

Zuko forced himself back to reality before she got the chance to shut the conversation down, lifting his hand before him. He hesitated, before letting blue fire blanket his fingers. It was so much hotter than his normal firebending, but he’d take it over the orange campfire before him. 

“Weird, isn’t it?” Zuko said idly, watching the blue hues flicker over his skin. He could stare at it for hours, losing himself in his mind, remembering what this fire was capable of, what it had done. 

Instead of speaking, Azula raised her own hand, holding it beside Zuko’s but not so they were touching. Flames immediately burst from her skin, and they were-. 

Zuko sucked in a breath. 

Blue. Her firebending was blue. 

“Do you know why?” Zuko whispered in awe, overwhelmed by the sudden prickling in his eyes. He had been so unsure of the blue fire, so scared of himself. He didn’t have any answers. He was completely, utterly alone. 

But here was Azula, and she looked an awful lot like him. 

Azula’s face turned into a scowl. “No, it just happened one day.” 

“Did anything trigger it?” Zuko asked, because at least he had Fong as some sort of theory behind this mutilation of his firebending. The thought pierced him. Did anything trigger it? Had something happened? Was Azula okay? 

She must have missed the sudden wave of concern that crashed over Zuko, because she just raised an elegant shoulder. “No,” she said it a little quickly, “one day it was orange, the next it was blue.” 

Zuko gazed down the beach, thinking. He remembered Uncle’s gasp of horror when he saw Zuko’s fire. Azula accepted it without even realising it was something that might be bad. 

“I _do_ know why we were sent to Ember Island, though.” Azula said absentmindedly, staring at their twin flames, as the fires took power from one another, twirling beneath the rising sun. 

“You do?” Zuko asked, before remembering Azula’s affinity for eavesdropping. Of course she knew. 

“Sozin’s Comet is coming in a matter of months.” Azula spoke casually, as if talking about the weather. “When it arrives, Father will burn down the Earth Kingdom in its entirety. He will wipe it out just as the Air Nomads were wiped out. It will win us the war. That’s why he's been so busy lately; he's planning.” 

Zuko’s flame spat and guttered, leaving only Azula’s to burn for a few seconds before she extinguished it in a tight fist. 

“ _What?_ " Zuko hissed, but he felt like his throat was closing up, his breath becoming punches against his aching ribs. 

Azula frowned, meeting his horrified stare. “It means that in a few months, this war will be over and we... Father will leave us alone. We will be fine then. Is that...” her frown deepened, confused. “Is that not what you want?” 

Zuko couldn’t breathe. The Earth Kingdom. Gaoling. Fong’s base. That horrible green uniform. All of it, burnt to ashes. Ruination. A scar on a map. Four nations turned three turned two. 

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that that wasn’t what he wanted. He never had. 

Zuko remembered Lee. He remembered a red ribbon burning atop a pile of rocks. He remembered Tulok’s niece, Miki, and her wide blue eyes. He remembered his decision to do everything in his power to end this war. He remembered standing in a market in Gaoling, insisting that the Fire Nation had to be the victors, because even though he wanted to end his father’s war, he couldn’t bring himself to betray his father to such an extent as to take his victory. He had been so naive. He had thought Father loved him. 

Then he spent four months in agony, and his Father barely spared him more than a few minutes. 

Zuko’s insides twisted at the thought of Ozai. Their relationship was... complicated. But one thing was for certain; Zuko knew now that he couldn’t let that man win this war. 

It was like a slap to the face, and he suddenly realised exactly where he was. 

Ember Island. The Fire Nation. 

Zuko was fine. He really was. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. He would marry Mai and take the throne and his life would be a long line of _fine_ ’s. He belonged here. He did. He was a ruined thing, mutilated and broken, and he had to stay where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

But that didn't mean he could stand by and let this happen. 

The ship arrived later that day to take them back to the palace. Azula kept sending strange looks Zuko’s way, and he knew she was angry with how he’d ended things this morning, barely giving her an answer before rushing back to the house. Zuko couldn’t be selfish. He couldn’t prioritise himself. Just like with Lee, his people came first, and his people couldn’t live under the tyrannical rule of his father. If Ozai really went through with this, the Fire Nation would burn in its own flames. He couldn’t let that happen. Zuko needed... Agni, he didn’t know. He didn't know what to do. 

All he knew was that he had to warn _them_. 

Which meant he had to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mai and post-Fong Zuko have the same moody humour and the fire hazard siblings are fire hazards, also reports of some subtle mailee that wasn’t even in the plot outline my wlw ass just couldn’t help myself. more news at 10. 
> 
> Would just like to say that, as much as this chapter killed me in terms of ye olde writer’s block, I'm actually really fucking excited about this. Book 2 has almost solely been Trauma and Reactions To Trauma so far, but this chapter really heralds the beginning of Dealing With The Trauma. im still learning to be less critical of my own writing, but I’ve put so much love into zuko’s healing and the way he heals and its wound up becoming really personal, and idk I guess I'm just really really buzzing that we‘re finally, after 8 chapters of Pain, getting into that aspect of book 2. 
> 
> **As for what’s going on with chapter 30, it shouldn’t be too big of a chapter so I’m hoping to get it up in one week instead of two. see you next saturday nerds xx**


	30. ii. Zuko Alone - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s up, I'm hella, I'm 18, and I never fuckin learnt how to write one pov chapters so having to do solely zuko povs for two chapters now has literally killed me. Where's the flavour?? Where's the spice??? Luckily we get back on our multi-pov bullshit in ch31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have nothing to say in this author’s note so if you were here for the haha funny stupidity keep scrolling. NOTHING is happening in my life i am on LOCKDOWN the highlight of my week was when I went on a bike ride and had a farmer spend at least 10 minutes aggressively trying to sell me – a lone teenage girl – a hay bale. 
> 
> Oh wait that’s a lie, I do have something to say. Chapter 31 will be up TWO WEEKS from now. That's right suckers bet you thought you could get my dumbass to accidentally revert back to a weekly upload. Sike!! See you in a jiffy nerds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do xx

There was blood in his mouth, lathering the walls of his throat in the thick, warm taste of metal and pain. He spluttered on it, staining his teeth red, bubbles of blood spattering his lips, his chin, sliding down his neck. He was choking on it. Bleeding from within. He'd done this to himself. He'd screamed and screamed and screamed, and it tore something, voice breaking and finally going silent, abandoning him to the heavy liquid stinging his mouth. But the pain didn’t stop. Fong was still there, stood before Zuko, wielding a knife and a grin. The hurt was everywhere, and Zuko couldn’t scream anymore. 

And the next moment, it was him holding the knife, Fong staring emptily up at him from the floor. The blood had left Zuko, falling outside of Fong’s body instead, pooling and lapping against Zuko’s feet. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong-._

“Zuko!” 

Mai’s voice snapped through his mind and Zuko woke up, body jolting as he gasped in a breath. His hands moved before he clocked what was happening, fingers clutching his throat, but when he swallowed, there was no blood, and when he blinked, he saw he was on the boat they’d taken to leave Ember Island, now docked at the harbour of the main island. They were already back. Zuko must have fallen asleep as they were sailing. 

“ _Zuko_.” Mai said again, and Zuko’s heart flipped at her hitched tone. He turned his gaze from the harbour in confusion, looking at her. 

His heart dropped as he realised the shock of the nightmare had made him fall back on instinct, the hand that wasn’t still tentatively touching his throat now wrapped around Mai’s wrist, her body sat in such a way that it looked like she’d tried to reach for him. But he’d stopped her. He’d stopped her in a grip tight enough to cut circulation. 

Zuko let her go, pushing himself away like he’d been burned. 

“I’m-.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Mai said, quickly returning to monotony, though her eyes were a little wide; shocked. “You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” He’d said it before she even finished asking, and her face fell into an accusatory glare. Zuko ignored her, instead taking in his surroundings, still a little disorientated. The ship was small, used only for transport around the archipelago. There were metal benches lining the rail, and Mai and Zuko had found themselves sat near the stern, still looking out at the twinkling sea. Azula sat opposite them, delicately picking at a salad. 

Zuko turned and saw the Fire Nation. Harbour City. Apparently, this was where external forces invaded only a few weeks ago. Recovery efforts were still taking place, but the invasion failed. _Of course it did_ , Zuko thought dejectedly, before berating himself. The Fire Nation was not undefeatable. No nation was. No _person_ was. He had to hold onto some form of hope or, Agni forbid, _optimism_. For his people. 

“Look!” Ty Lee arrived in a flurry of smiling pink, pointing over the rail, as if hearing Zuko think the word ‘optimism’ and rushing forward at the invitation. “They’re selling fire flakes at the market!” 

“We just ate lunch.” Mai said with a dejected nod at the empty plates on the bench beside her. 

“And they always sell fire flakes at the market.” Zuko added, pretending not to notice how they’d picked up on his refusal to eat with them. 

Ty Lee’s smile fell, and she turned helplessly to Azula. 

Azula ignored her pouting at first, before looking up with a put-upon sigh. “What?” 

“Come on, Azula, it’ll be fun!” Ty Lee tried excitedly. 

“I don’t see how mingling with peasants is fun.” Azula said, scrunching up her nose. 

“Well,” Ty Lee giggled, “maybe see it as an excuse to see people be scared of you. Or see it as _charity work_.” 

Azula’s face became even more disgusted. “Altruism?” She said. “Really? Right in front of my salad?” 

Zuko was too unsettled by the conversation to take pity on Ty Lee. Had they always talked like this? And about their own people? He let the silence stretch. For a few seconds, Ty Lee looked between Zuko and Mai, before throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

“Ugh, _fine_ , if you three want to be miserable together, go for it.” She said, voice going all high and offended. “Your auras are just so dull right now, and I won’t let you muddy mine. _I'm_ going to get fire flakes.” 

And with that, she spun on her heel, braid twirling with her in the lunchtime sun, and somersaulted over the rail, landing easily on the pier. 

Mai never took her eyes off her. 

“Go.” Zuko said, trying to hold back a fond smile. 

“What?” Mai asked, finally blinking and looking back to Zuko, slightly dazed, as if she’d been staring at the sun. 

Zuko held her gaze knowingly, and Mai eventually sighed. 

“Shut up.” She said, before getting to her feet and following Ty Lee. 

It was a short walk to the palace and an even shorter palanquin ride. Zuko had tried to refuse at first. It was strange; he’d spent his childhood travelling in palanquins, but just a few years in the real world made the concept seem bizarre. Who was _he_ to be carried by other people? 

The Fire Prince. That’s who he was. Zuko cursed himself for ever forgetting. 

The Fire Prince, who was leaving the Fire Nation. 

_Betraying_ the Fire Nation. 

Turning traitor in order to save his people, because the Fire Nation had become so warped that the people and the insignia no longer meant the same thing. Leaving in order to warn a kingdom who had shown him nothing but cruelty, and a tribe who had shown him forgiveness. 

He'd come here because there was nothing for him to do elsewhere except destroy, ruin, uphold his birthright. He’d come here because the fire inside him was allowed, _encouraged_ , to spread here. He'd come here because it was the last place in the world where there might still be _something_ for him. Azula... And Father. 

Because as scared as he was of Ozai, Zuko still had his thirteen-year-old self in his mind, without closure and _wanting_ , insisting that Father still loved him. It was all one big lesson. That was all. And Zuko had learned. 

He’d hoped coming home would prove to himself that his father was still a monster, the last nail in the coffin, but Ozai was not that simple. 

Because he _was_ a monster. He wanted to incinerate the Earth Kingdom, for Agni’s sake. 

But he was a monster who welcomed Zuko home. A monster who was proud of him. 

Zuko knew the requirements of a father, a true father, now. _Someone who cares about you. Someone by your side, not ahead. Someone who listens. Someone who loves you as you are, unconditionally, without expecting something in return._ Ozai didn’t meet those requirements, but sometimes, as if the light was hitting the angle just right, _sometimes_ he would care, and would be there, and he would present a chance. Ozai had left Zuko to rot in Fong’s base because Ozai was a monster amongst men, but was there a chance that some part of Ozai, however small, was not a monster amongst fathers? 

And _Azula_. She was still here. She was angry and alone and her fire was blue and Zuko never expected to find comfort in her, but on the beach this morning _he did_. They shared something. Call it a truce, or even one of her mind games, but it was _something_. And he’d missed her. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed her until she was beside him like that. 

Zuko had barely noticed the walk to his room until he was at his own door, and he flung himself inside, air struggling to fill his lungs. His room was simple and eerie. He'd expected it to be lifeless when he came home. He’d been gone three years and his father was hardly one for sentiment. But here he was, and his things were still in place, as if the doors had been locked on the day of the Agni Kai and no one had entered since. 

He needed to pack. He needed to pack because for all his personal reasons behind staying, he still had to leave. His people came first. The world came first. Lee taught him that. Zuko could be angry or in pain or _fine_ , Zuko’s heart could pull him home, but at the end of the day, this was the cause he had chosen. 

Because that was just it, wasn’t it? 

Zuko didn’t know how to live if not for other people. 

Zuko didn’t know how to live just for himself. 

Zuko threw everything into a small bag - some clothes, his Blue Spirit mask that he’d managed to hide from Azula, a dagger he found hidden in the folds of an old tunic - barely concentrating as he pulled open drawers and swept shelves, seeing his own possessions, all of which he'd once touched with young hands that hadn’t been stained red. There were just so many _things_. Scrolls and clothes and candles and what seemed like a dozen pillows decorating the bed he hadn't slept in, arranged in their ugly reds and burgundies, all pretty and proper. For comfort. 

Comfort. 

_Comfort_. 

Zuko raked a hand through his hair, grabbing handfuls of the too-short strands as he stared around the room. He felt like he was spinning, the urge to laugh and scream and be sick twisting simultaneously up inside him. Four months of pain and hardship and the only form of softness, of comfort, he got was from these useless, lifeless things. Father spared him a fraction of his time to commend something that haunted Zuko’s sleeping mind and told him again and again why he could never be good. Azula told him he was weak. And Zuko was alone in here, in this room turned crypt with its pretty little pillow display and pretty little long-cold candles on the drawers and-. 

And Zuko was moving before he could even realise what he was doing, hands grasping for purchase as he swept the drawers clear, watching candlewicks snap in half as they smashed against the floor. The deafening clatter of the metal holders didn’t even get the chance to stop ringing before Zuko was moving again, grabbing the dagger he’d found earlier and tearing it through one of the pillows. The red casing split to reveal luxurious feathers, delicate and dead as they bled over the bed, catching in Zuko’s hair and on his hands, and the room was too small and he couldn’t breathe and he hurt _everywhere, everywhere, everywhere_ and he tore another pillow, and then another and another and another. 

By the time Azula heard the racket, Zuko was sat on the floor, feathers clinging to his hair, shed from the carcass of an eagle-hawk that was supposed to have died days ago, clothes and all his things scattered around him, dagger cradled gently in his hands. He didn’t look up when she opened the doors, when she yelled at him to stop making such a noise, when her words caught in her throat. His eyes were trained on the dagger. It was Earth Kingdom, blunt after years of abandonment. Uncle had given it him a long, long time ago. A shaking finger traced the inscription. _Never give up without a fight._

“I’m still angry.” Zuko muttered, and when his golden gaze finally snapped up to Azula’s unblinking own, there was an inferno in their depths. “I’m angry. It was supposed to go away but it hasn’t. I'm so fucking angry. I don’t know how to make it go away.” 

Because there it was; the bare bones of it. 

He named his feelings in the Boiling Rock library. He finally dared to face them. He looked upon it and met the glare of his rage, and he acknowledged it. It was supposed to die with Fong. Logic said it should have died with Fong, because Fong was the cause of this rage, so with Fong gone, the rage had no fuel left. It should have burned out. 

But it was still here. 

It was still here. 

_Why?_

An impatient sigh broke through Zuko’s mind, and he watched Azula carefully pick her way through the mess, stopping opposite him and leaning against the wall. She arched an elegant eyebrow. 

“Of course you’re angry, Dum Dum.” She sneered. “How much did he take just for you to give him a quick death? But I suppose you’ve always been too soft in that regard. If it were me,” she examined her nails, grinning cruelly, “I would have drawn it out. Showed him the same pain he showed you.” 

Zuko frowned, shaking his head. That wasn't it. He knew that wasn’t it. He didn’t have Fong’s sadism, and he didn’t think Azula did either. She was just parroting the environment around her. She probably believed it too, but believing you are capable of atrocities and actually pulling the knife were two separate things. Zuko knew that. No. Zuko killed Fong in the exact way he should have. Quickly. Thoroughly. This anger still burning within him... it was something else... 

“Where are you going?” Azula asked suddenly, and Zuko blinked to see her eyes had narrowed on the bag he’d started packing, some clothes still hanging out of it; incriminating. 

He opened his mouth to lie before hesitating. He remembered the beach this morning, the fraction of vulnerability he’d managed to pull from Azula. He remembered her words to him before he saw Father. _You left me_. 

And now he would have to leave all over again. Right after saying he would be a better brother, that things could be different. Zuko winced. He shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. 

“’Zula,” Zuko said levelly, slowly dragging himself to his feet, “I can’t let Father wipe out the Earth Kingdom.” 

Azula’s lips parted. It was the only indication she would give to show she was shocked. She honestly hadn’t seen this coming. 

“ _What_.” She hissed, not even a question. 

“It’s wrong-.” 

“After what they did to you?” Azula snarled, snapping herself to attention. 

Zuko drew in a sharp breath, glare steadying on his little sister. She lashed out when she lost control of a situation, he knew that, but there were certain lines that he wouldn’t let her cross. He wasn’t the docile brother who let her walk all over him when they were children. Not anymore. He had boundaries, and he had the means to enforce them. 

“The _Earth Kingdom_ ,” Zuko said through clenched teeth, speaking slowly, “is a victim of a war started by our family. _General Fong_ is a monster who does not represent his people.” 

_Was. Was_ a monster. 

“So what, you’re going to try and stop Father? You _can’t_.” Azula said, a threat in her words. _You can’t_ became _I won’t let you_. 

Zuko realised he couldn’t tell her the truth. He cared about Azula and he truly wanted to try again with her, but his change of mind didn’t signify her own. She was still Father’s daughter. She would always put Ozai before Zuko. 

“I don’t know, Azula!” Zuko snapped, that same thrashing rage that saw him tear this room apart now reaching for more, claws out. “I don’t know what I'm going to do, but I can’t just do _nothing_!” 

“Why not?!” Azula yelled, pushing herself off the wall to stand straight, glaring up at him. “Because you’re so _good?_ Nice little Zuzu. Kind little Zuzu. You had them all fooled thinking you were so good, but you _aren’t!_ ” And here, her face twisted, the anger melting away into arrogance, like she’d already won. “If you were good, you wouldn’t have killed him.” 

Zuko flinched, eyes widening. Azula noticed. She always noticed. 

“What, you don’t like hearing it out loud?” She teased. “ _You killed Fong_. Agni, I bet you can’t even say the words.” 

Anger crashed against Zuko with a roar. “ _Stop it_.” 

“This is the true you, brother.” Azula snarled. “This is who you’ve always been. I was the only one who could see you for what you truly were. I was the only one who knew that _anger_ in you.” Azula’s voice was raising to a yell, venom dripping from each syllable. “She thought you were so _perfect_! Her _perfect_ little boy-!” 

“Who did?!” Zuko bellowed, unable to hear Azula’s words, unable to interpret them. “Who are you even talking about-?!” 

“Mother!” Azula screamed, and everything seemed to freeze. It was silent between them for a few seconds, Azula’s face contorting in horror as she realised what she’d said, the only sound being the two of them getting their breath back, stunned by the sudden noise. 

_Mother_. 

Zuko’s voice was low, threatening, when he managed to speak again. “You can’t blame me for the things she did.” _For the things she didn’t do._

Azula grinned, expression barren, empty, heartless. “I can.” But then, as quick as it came, her smile fell, pure hatred on her features. " _I do_.” 

And Zuko supposed it made sense. It was so easy for him to recognise now. After everything, he was still desperately trying to justify his father and the things he did. In the South Pole, he’d told himself that Hakoda was lying until he was numb to it. It had to remain Zuko’s fault. The moment it stopped being Zuko’s fault, it became Father’s, and Zuko would lose him forever. 

He knew now. He knew that Ozai was never going to be the man Zuko wanted him to be. He still hoped, still chased these fickle dreams, but he had finally started shifting the blame from his own shoulders. 

Azula hadn’t been raised to internalise things the way Zuko had. Where he blamed himself, she blamed others. 

But this was not Zuko’s fault, and Zuko loved Mother. Azula had never wanted Mother’s love. She didn’t get to tarnish the memory of one of the few people in Zuko’s life who had ever shown him softness. 

“You have no reason,” Zuko hissed, stepping forward and using his height to glare down at his sister, “to hate Mother.” 

Azula drew herself up, a predator about to pounce. She raised an eyebrow, her _left_ eyebrow, mockingly. “And you have no reason to hate Father.” 

Zuko’s breath caught in his throat, stomach teetering dangerously. “I don’t hate Father.” But he said it too quickly. This was unknown territory now. Their whole lives, Azula and Zuko had known one constant; that the Fire Lord, that Father, always came first. They would sacrifice each other in a heartbeat if it meant a moment of his attention. Zuko stepping back from that was a loud move, glaringly obvious, but for Azula to point it out so plainly, so brashly – what if someone overheard? 

“You’re angry.” She whispered, the deadly hush in complete contrast to how they’d screamed at each other a few minutes before. “You said it yourself. Who are you angry at, Zuko?” 

“Stay out of it.” Zuko hissed. 

“Is it me?” 

Yes. 

“Is it Fong?” 

Yes. 

“Is it Uncle?” 

Yes. 

“Is it Father?” 

“Stop it!” Zuko roared, blue fire shooting from his hand. Azula deflected it easily, watching it catch on some loose feathers, filling the room with the acrid smell of smoke, like the library. _Stop it, stop it, stop it._

He was supposed to be fine. 

… He wasn’t fine. 

He wasn’t fine because he was still so fucking angry at everything, and _Father still wasn’t here_. It hit Zuko like a slap to the face, because here he was, ashen feathers at his feet and a trashed room around him, comforts that had been so easily torn away, and Father still wasn’t here. Because even this version of Ozai, this version that was proud, this version that looked Zuko in the eye without disgust, this version that Zuko had agonised for, fought for, searched for, this version that he’d dreamed of for years, this version still wasn’t here. 

It took three years. It took a scar that would never go away. It took too many kindnesses misinterpreted. It took seven warriors. 

But finally, Zuko had to admit the truth. 

Ozai didn’t care about him. 

And there was nothing Zuko could do, because it was not his fault. 

“Zuko?” Azula’s voice was unbearably quiet, expression soft, if only for a moment. She must have seen the dread on his face, the heartbreak. 

Or maybe she saw the rage. 

She didn’t stop staring as Zuko pushed past her, grabbing his bag and scabbard. 

“Zuko,” she said, more urgently than before, as if only now realising how serious he was, “if you do this, you can never come back." 

Zuko paused, looking at her one last time. Her eyes were still so cold, disappointed but nothing more. He didn’t want to leave Azula here, but she wasn’t enough to stay for. 

“I know.” Zuko said, before walking from the room, leaving the smoke behind, his things behind. 

Leaving her behind. 

____ 

Zuko flexed his hands at his sides, breath coming in short, body screaming in pain from the over-exertion of his jerky movements, but he had to be quick as he strode through the corridors. If he hesitated for even a moment, he’d back out. 

And he owed himself this. He owed himself this moment. He needed this. 

This was one thing Zuko would do for himself. 

Because he was so _angry_ with his father. Zuko had made mistakes, too many to count, but the love of his father was one thing he should have always had. It was the bare minimum. He knew that now. He'd seen it, in the way Sokka was willing to risk everything to get Hakoda back, in the way Hakoda looked at Sokka even when they weren’t speaking. Zuko knew it. And it was such a new thought, because Zuko was a broken, villainous thing. He'd committed atrocities and Azula was right; he wasn’t good. 

But he had once been a child, and that child had deserved love. He deserved love and safety and all he got was a mutilated face. 

He was leaving to warn the Water Tribe. He'd pass the information over to their hands. He owed them that much, and it was the right thing to do for the world. Whatever Zuko believed, whatever he felt, it was infinitesimal compared to the war. Leaving wasn’t up for debate. It hadn’t been from the moment Azula told him about the Earth Kingdom. 

But _how_ he left was completely up to Zuko and, a tentative inferno, Zuko decided to finally let his anger take control. 

Coming home had been a surrender. Surrendering to the Fire Prince. Zuko didn’t know what became of all that, of him, after this. Perhaps he’d fade into nothing. But he _did_ know that if he was going to surrender, he’d go down fighting, he’d go down saying the words that deserved to be spoken. 

Ozai would not make a quiet exit out of Zuko. 

And with that, Zuko stormed into the throne room. 

____ 

Father was still sat on his throne, idly drinking tea while orange flames jumped and spat aggressively around him. His golden gaze flicked over Zuko, over his scabbard, over the twist of anger on his face and his hurried entrance, and Ozai scowled. 

“Prince Zuko,” he said coldly, an air of warning in his tone, “what are you doing here? 

“I’m here to tell the truth.” Zuko said, drawing himself up, every inch the proud Fire Prince, but he was starting to reclaim the title. Perhaps he could make it his own. Or perhaps his father would kill him right here where he stood. Zuko... didn’t care much what happened next. He just needed to get this _out_. 

Ozai raised an eyebrow, but he knew that he was far more powerful than Zuko, and he waved the guards away with a smug flick of his fingers. They filed out wordlessly, mere pawns to Ozai’s glare, and Zuko was left alone with his father. 

The great thing about anger is that it smothers terror. 

“Go on.” Ozai drawled. 

Even now, the words fought to remain unspoken. Once they were voiced, there was no going back. Was living like this truly that bad? At least like this, in short conversations and vacations with his friends whenever they got in Ozai’s way, Zuko still had the dream of his father’s love. The moment he spoke was the moment it became too late, the moment he killed that dream and faced the truth head on. 

Zuko worked his jaw, forcing the thoughts away. It had been too late for a very long time. 

“For starters,” Zuko said, “I wasn’t the Water Tribe’s prisoner. Not by the end. I befriended them. I stayed _willingly_.” 

Ozai’s expression, usually so carefully crafted, splintered with shocked rage, eyes widening as he listened. 

“You would lower yourself to the levels of those _savages?_ ” Ozai snarled, each word clipped and enough to make a younger, smarter Zuko cower. Zuko stood firm. 

_Savagery_ had two definitions. It could mean fierce, unnecessarily cruel, brutal, violent. Or it could mean primitive, uncivilised. When Zuko thought of savagery, he pictured teenagers sent to battle, he pictured a child burned before a crowd, he pictured one hundred years of devastation. When Zuko thought of savagery, he didn’t picture a glowing sky, he didn’t picture a stranger’s patience, he didn’t picture scorched tea leaves. 

When Zuko thought of savagery, it was not the Water Tribe that came to mind. 

It was the Fire Nation. 

“There’s more.” Zuko pushed on, a crescendo of terror and anger and liberation building within him. “I didn’t just befriend them; I risked my life for them and it got me captured by General Fong. And you know what? _I would do it again._ ” 

Ozai jumped to his feet, knocking over the small table beside him in his rage, tea spilling down the steps. 

“Get out! Get out of my sight if you know what’s good for you!” Ozai growled, and the direct command ought to have made Zuko flee, but he found himself smirking. 

“That’s another thing. I’m not taking orders from you anymore.” Zuko said, grabbing the handle of his Dao when Ozai took a threatening step closer, the Fire Lord’s fingers bursting in flame, _orange_ flame. Zuko was wondering how long it would take to come to this. He swore he wouldn’t fight his father - he couldn’t win - but he’d take as much of his time as he could. 

“You will obey me,” Ozai hissed, the flames in his hands growing, “or this defiant breath will be your last.” 

Zuko pulled his sword fully from its scabbard, wielding it with sickening familiarity. He didn’t let himself look at it. He knew Mai had cleaned it for him on the journey home, but he also knew that there was nothing in the world that could stop him from seeing blood on the blade. He couldn’t risk that kind of distraction, not here, so he kept his glare steady, focussed. 

"For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me.” Zuko said, and the sword must have made Ozai at least a little nervous, because Zuko was still talking instead of being incinerated. “I thought it was my honour that I wanted, but really, I was just trying to please you.” Zuko felt a lump in his throat, felt his eyes sting, and he gripped his sword tighter. “You, _my father_ , who banished me just for talking out of turn. _My father_ , who challenged me, a thirteen-year-old boy, to an Agni Kai. How can you possibly justify a duel with a child?” 

Ozai scoffed. “It was to teach you respect.” 

“It was cruel!” Zuko snapped, anger burning his tongue. “And it was wrong!” 

“Then you’ve learned nothing.” Ozai said with disdain. 

“ _No_.” Zuko shook his head, the word a battle cry punctuated by a sharp jab of his sword as if daring Ozai to cross it, to cross him. “I’ve learnt everything, and I've had to learn it on my own. Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilisation in history, that somehow, the war was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world.” Zuko remembered Lee and Tomkin, and the sneer was hollow on his lips. “What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don’t see our greatness; they hate us." Days sailing all the way to the South Pole because they couldn’t trust Zuko’s word, and they couldn’t trust Zuko’s word because they had been burned too many times before. 

Zuko’s anger fell into something sad and bitter. “We deserve it.” He said, frowning. “We've created an era of fear, and if we don’t want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.” 

And _oh_ , it sounded so warm, so promising. If only Zuko could believe in it, but that era was not his to have. It was the Avatar and his friends’, it was the Water Tribe’s. It belonged to the good guys. 

Ozai laughed, a booming, icy sound that ricocheted around the throne room, flames spitting in time. “I always knew you were pathetic.” He spat, as if even looking at Zuko was disgusting. They'd been here before, with that look on Father’s face, in this throne room. Ozai raised his hands, engulfing them in flames, and Zuko knew what came next. He'd lived it all before. Zuko had stood and took his punishment last time. He did as he was told. It hadn’t saved him. 

“Pathetic?” Zuko echoed, feet sliding into a sturdier stance as he recognised his father was about to attack. He knew it was bad that he recognised such a thing. “No, Father, I'm not pathetic. I survived four months detached from Agni. I _starved_ down there. I had nothing. And I got out. _I'm still here._ That's not pathetic.” 

Ozai growled in anger before lunging forward, a gust of fire shooting from his palms. Zuko just had time to jump out of its way before it caught him, but the fire, its blistering orange colour, unhinged something in him and made him stumble. That minute distraction as he steadied himself was enough, and suddenly, Ozai was before him. 

His knuckles caught Zuko’s mouth in a backhanded hit, and the force shoved Zuko to the floor. It was cool beneath his hands. There was blood in his mouth. 

He needed to _move_. 

Zuko rolled out of the way as fire slammed down where he had just lay crumpled on the floor, jumping quickly to his feet and putting a few paces between him and Ozai. 

“I won’t have your weakness and stupidity tarnish our family any longer.” Ozai said, and the flames in his hands began to crackle, suddenly becoming white shards of lightning. “You are no son of mine.” 

It hurt. After everything, it still hurt. But Zuko’s anger muffled it, and his shock at seeing the lightning made his thoughts still a moment. 

Fire was what Zuko knew, what he expected. For Ozai to use lightning... it added another layer of cruelty. It was gratuitous. It was for sheer pain alone. 

It reignited Zuko’s rage, and he glared at his father, because Zuko knew something Ozai didn’t. 

Zuko knew that he had done _this_ before too. 

Ozai’s hatred became a twisted grin on his face, cutting and bloodthirsty, as he moved the lightning around his fingers, pulling it back, readying to strike. Zuko stayed still, adrenaline allowing him to breathe deeply without his ribs complaining. In, and he remembered a storm on a wooden deck, the taste of rum. Out, he remembered the positioning of his feet. In, he lifted his hands ready, waiting for the strike. Out, he expected it to hurt this time, he was ready this time. 

Ozai released the lightning and it slammed into Zuko, consuming him in blinding electricity. His muscles locked, a scream building up in his throat as the pain slammed in just as hard, but he swallowed it down. His hands were steady when he grasped the lightning, the energy of it thundering in his ears, and he moved smoothly, quickly. It was burning, igniting every inch of his skin. It would be so easy to give into it, to let it take him. He was supposed to let it take him. 

But Zuko grit his teeth and pushed, and the lightning shot from his fingertips. 

Zuko just had time to see his expression of horror before the lightning hit Ozai, the force of it flinging the unsuspecting man backwards until he lay in a crumpled heap. 

The throne room was silent and Zuko knew he couldn’t watch to see what happened next. He let himself look for a second longer, memorising how Ozai’s hair had fallen from his crown, how he knelt powerlessly on the floor as he got his breath back, the bark of command ordering the guards to seize Zuko about to leave his lips, how the Fire Nation insignia fluttered to the floor behind him, and then Zuko turned and he walked away. 

____ 

Ozai was cruel and loveless. He didn’t love Zuko. He never loved Zuko. He never would love Zuko. Zuko was leaving nothing behind but ashes at the altar of his father’s legacy. Zuko was walking away, each corner of the palace he turned taking him further, a hundred different burns and scars and agonies coating his skin and singing with adrenaline. 

He was leaving. He was actually leaving. This wasn’t like when he was banished, because even the _word_ was suffocating beneath the connotations of return. No. Zuko couldn’t come back. Not after what he’d just done. If he didn’t hurry, his father’s soldiers would kill him in these very hallways, the catacombs of his childhood. 

Zuko grabbed his bag from where he’d stashed it, pulled up his hood, and _ran_. 

There were dozens of ways to get out of the palace undetected. Him and Azula frequented them as children, Lu Ten even taught Zuko a few, and now, Zuko’s body led him to them like a magnet being pulled. He was blinded by fear, anger, shock, adrenaline; the cocktail of emotions more than anything he’d felt in months, and he was drunk on it. 

He almost ran right into Mai. 

“You’re bleeding.” She said immediately, taking a steadying step back as Zuko careened to a halt. The sudden stop left him panting, and it felt as if claws were raking over his ribs. He choked on a wince, grasping his torso. It only made it worse. 

Mai's eyes widened as she took in Zuko’s discomfort, her words a quiet whisper, as if she was talking more to herself than Zuko. “I thought so.” 

“Thought what?” Zuko bit out, leaning against the wall, subtly hiding his bag. 

“You never went to a healer.” Mai said, unimpressed. 

Zuko had completely forgotten about that. It wasn’t exactly on his list of priorities. He'd be fine. 

“I-.” Zuko started, rubbing the back of his neck. Distantly, he heard footsteps. Guards. The torches flickered from where they hugged the walls of the thin corridor, throwing everything in a blanket of orange. Zuko stared at it, focusing on the way he automatically wanted to pull away from it. He needed to concentrate. He needed to think. 

If Mai knew what he’d done, what he was doing, would she try and stop him? Zuko honestly didn’t know. The safest option was to just get rid of her naturally. His heart strained at the thought of leaving her behind too. He'd missed her, and now she was being torn from him again. 

Mai frowned, confused by his silence, following his gaze to where it had settled on a nearby torch. 

“Ugh,” she said quietly, absentmindedly, “orange is such an awful colour.” 

Zuko blinked in surprise, turning back to face her, but Mai didn’t look at him. 

“I know what you’re doing.” She said, still staring at the fire. The footsteps were getting louder. “You’re leaving.” 

Zuko tensed, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to fight Mai. The silence stretched as he carefully tried to think of what to say, before settling reluctantly on the truth. 

“I can't stay here, Mai. I can’t just give up.” He said, memorising the angles of her face. “I get if you hate me.” 

Mai finally met his gaze, and her dark eyes were soft. "I don't hate you." 

Zuko’s relief was almost embarrassing in its intensity. The guards were seconds away from seeing him now. His time was up. Zuko hesitated a second longer before kissing Mai’s forehead. It was a quick, chaste thing. 

“I don’t hate you too.” 

And then he was running again, and he heard Mai telling the guards he went the other way, and he let himself be swallowed by the orange glow of the torches igniting his home. In that light, it almost looked like the corridors were burning. He'd run from the palace, he’d lose the guards, he’d think of a plan. Kanut was very clear; the Water Tribe would be at the Western Air Temple. The thought of seeing them again, all of them again, was terrifying and sickening all at once. Would they hate him for what he’d done? Would they judge him? Because that was it, wasn’t it? He came home to avoid that judgement, to stew in his anger, to surrender to the world. This was him fighting back, but it simultaneously left him vulnerable again. 

A nagging thought in the back of his mind suggested not a solution, but something that could stall the process. The necklace around his neck was so heavy, and he missed Zi Se with every beat of his heart. Zuko didn’t know if he was okay, if Iroh had done as he asked. Had he gone to his aunt yet? 

Zuko wasn’t equipped to take care of Zi Se alone before Fong, but now, he could promise him safety. 

He could try again. 

Or he could at least just _see_ the damn kid. 

The Western Air Temple was Zuko’s goal, but first, he had a certain White Lotus camp to return to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZUKO AND ZI SE REUNION. And maybe a certain sexy female white lotus agent with sociopathic tendencies? Perhaps? The platonic maiko again grabbed me by the throat and took control and I could not have been happier to oblige. I am once again repeating that FUCK OZAI ALL MY HOMIES HATE OZAI


	31. ii. Songs Of Fire, Hymns Of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello members of the court I found a really cool rock in my garden the other day and i’m gonna throw it at my sister but like lovingly. Unless she snitches to my mum about me eating all the shortbread again in which case I'm going in for the kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry but party rock is not in the house tonight and I'm completely getting rid of the update schedule. Like fully just scrapping it. I'm the zuko to my update schedule’s fong shall we say. I’m just Not Having A Good Time With It and I can’t handle the whole deadline thing, so I've decided I'm just gonna post a chapter whenever it’s written. Now fear not, I still write chapters pretty quick so I won’t make you sit through weeks and weeks without a peep from me; it’s more likely gonna be either 3 chapters for 3 consecutive days and then 2 weeks radio silence, or like max 3 weeks without chapters. But then again, who knows! Not me! Life's a ride! Youth is finite! Carpe Diem!
> 
> **So yeah, the summary here is you can[check my tumblr](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/) for updates on when chapters are coming out <3 **
> 
> taob also has a [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956837/chapters/71054787) now!! and don't forget to check out the latest [podcast episodes](https://open.spotify.com/show/5nWKOOOQhSFknMu1f3Z0FP). also would like to share this beautiful [animatic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omavs6ZKBks) that was done for chapter 28 <33
> 
> Have fun with this one you insects and various members of the Alphabet Mafia – it's actually reasonably upbeat??? Mad. Have a nice *insert amount of time until I post chapter 32 here* nerds and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do x

“Whatever you say, weatherbender.” 

“Tomkin, I'm an _air_ bender. Just air. Not the weather.” 

“Air is wind. Wind is weather. They’re the same thing.” 

“Wrong.” 

“Oh, and water’s not wet, I suppose?” 

“Actually,” Nanook started, interrupting the academic debate between Tomkin and Aang, “technically speaking-.” 

Tomkin groaned loudly, cutting off the spiel of ridiculousness he knew was about to leave his friend’s mouth. 

“Nan,” Tomkin stressed, “we are not having this conversation again.” 

“He thinks water isn’t wet?” Aang asked Tomkin quietly, a look of concern on his face as they eyed the older boy. 

“He’s an idiot.” Tomkin said by way of explanation. 

It was a blisteringly hot day at the Western Air Temple, and most of their group had settled on one of the platforms outside, basking in whatever breeze they were blessed with. They didn’t have much to pass their days. The benders practised, Tomkin and Nanook left to hunt and forage, the younger kids played. It was peaceful here. Sometimes, Tomkin caught himself thinking that this little corner of the world felt so untouched by the war. But then he’d catch sight of the faded mural they slept before, or the crumbling pagodas. This temple was a relic, a carcass. It had been ruined by the war in the most unimaginable way, its only living remnants being a single little boy. 

It was that aching reminder that made Tomkin swallow his nervousness of the Avatar in the end. Aang may have been one-hundred-and-twelve and the Avatar and the last airbender, but he was also just a kid. A kid with a lot of hurt in his heart. A kid with a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. A kid who Tomkin was now charged to take care of. 

“You done yapping, twinkletoes?” Toph snapped from where she stood in the centre of the platform, glaring at the three boys as they collected in the shade of a large pillar. Tomkin and Nanook had been sharpening weapons idly, and Aang had run over the first chance he got, stealing a short break from Toph and her relentless teaching. 

“We’ve been earthbending for _ages_.” Aang complained, pouting. 

Toph jabbed a finger in his direction. “We said we’d practise until Katara finished making lunch, now get your ass over here.” 

“Off you go, kid.” Nanook said, nudging Aang’s shoulder. Aang groaned one last time before trudging back towards Toph, who punched him in the arm as soon as he was close enough. 

“And stop swearing!” Tomkin called after the retreating benders, earning an obscene gesture over Toph’s shoulder. 

“Who even taught her that?” Nanook mumbled, but they both knew Chena and Toph had struck up a menacing friendship back on the Ullaakut. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. 

When it was just Tomkin and Nanook, it was easy to lapse into silence. They'd always been comfortable with each other’s company, but now, they were just exhausted. These couple weeks had seen them taking care of seven kids. One of those kids was the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe and had a habit of sending ice shards dangerously close to Tomkin’s face whenever he patronised her, another of those kids was a runaway Earth Kingdom noble who invented metalbending, and then there was the literal Avatar. But it was fine. Tomkin and Nanook had found a way of working with the kids that suited everyone, and they were learning how to live around each other here. Their days on the ship helped; they knew how to adapt. And besides, even the youngest of these kids knew how to take care of themselves. So long as Tomkin and Nanook kept them fed, rested and within sight, then everything would be fine. 

That last goal was proving to be a little more difficult than it ought to though, because Sokka still wasn’t back from his fishing trip. 

Nanook insisted that it was fine. There weren’t many fish around here, so Sokka probably had to travel far. He took provisions with him, and he was a skilled hunter. He was also one of the eldest, and he’d taken care of the group for a lot longer than Tomkin and Nanook were struggling to. 

Nanook insisted it was fine, and logically, Tomkin knew it would be fine, but Katara was a lot harder to convince. 

“She sleep last night?” Tomkin asked, deep in thought as he stared at a patch of rock. 

Nanook frowned, before realising what Tomkin was talking about. “I don’t think so. I woke up just before dawn and she was already getting breakfast ready. She just won’t _stop_.” 

Because Katara got restless when she was worried, just like Kya used to. 

“I’m sure it’ll-.” Nanook started, before being cut off by a loud chirping sound. The older boy’s face lit up as Momo flew towards him, followed by a weary Katara. The signs of her stress were starting to show on her face, her skin pulled tight, bags beneath her eyes, but she still greeted them with a soft smile. 

Nanook picked Momo up, cradling him in his arms and cooing down at the creature’s little face. 

“Would you stop holding him like a baby? He’s not even that cute.” Tomkin said, and Nanook gasped, rearranging the furball in order to cover Momo’s comically large ears. 

“Don’t talk to me or my son ever again.” Nanook said, offended. 

“Tomkin,” Katara sighed as she finally joined them, “you’re going to have to get over it sooner or later.” 

“I will do no such thing.” Tomkin said, glaring at Momo and remembering what happened the first time Tomkin tried to hold him. Momo just blinked back obliviously. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t really hate you, Tomkin!” Aang called with a grin from where he was stood before a pillar of earth. 

“Focus, twinkletoes!” Toph bellowed, before promptly shooting a rock and whacking the Avatar in the side for his lack of concentration. 

Katara muttered something beneath her breath at Toph’s roughhousing, but Aang just laughed it off good-naturedly. Tomkin met Nanook’s knowing gaze, and they both smiled. 

“What?” Katara asked when she looked back at the boys - once she was done staring at Aang, of course. 

“Nothin’.” Nanook said, still cradling Momo, a wolfish grin on his lips. 

“Does your father know you’re in love with the Avatar?” Tomkin asked casually, making Nanook slap his arm like he’d given away a secret. Katara gasped, horrified, but the way she began to loudly shush him, flicking paranoid glances to the oblivious Aang, wasn’t helping her case. 

“I am _not_.” She hissed, shoving Tomkin when he snickered, which only made Nanook burst out laughing. Katara threw her hands up in defeat, groaning. “You know, I actually came out here for a reason. Lunch is ready. I bet Haru has eaten yours by now, you menaces.” 

“He wouldn’t dare-!” Nanook gasped, already pushing past Tomkin to confront the notoriously greedy earthbender, Momo flying up from his arms with a disgruntled squawk. Aang saw him leaving and took it as an opportunity to duck out of Toph’s lesson, and once she was done cursing Aang’s flightiness, it was just Katara and Tomkin left outside. 

“Not hungry?” Katara asked, still smiling a little. 

“I could ask you the same question.” Tomkin said, crossing his arms. This was the pose Hakoda donned whenever he was being a Big Serious Chief. Tomkin was sure he must look just as menacing. 

“I know you haven’t been sleeping.” Tomkin said sternly. “And you hardly touch your food. It hasn't even been a week, Katara. He'll be fine.” 

Katara's smile slipped from her face like water, and she absentmindedly touched her necklace. 

“It’s just so unlike him.” She said quietly after a few seconds of silence. “To just leave like that on his own, with nothing more than a quick note? And to be gone so long? Something's not right about it, Tomkin.” She frowned, hand falling to her side. “I guess I just hate the not knowing. He might be fine, but he might not be, and I just _don’t know._ ” 

Tomkin felt something twist deep inside of him, the residual aftershock of a break in his heart that happened many months ago. Yeah, he got what she was feeling. He still had that autograph tucked away in his pocket, for La’s sake. First Zuko, and now Sokka? The thought was unbearable. No, Sokka was fine. He was on a fishing trip. It wasn’t unusual that he hadn’t invited the other older boys. He probably wanted some time alone. He was probably enjoying himself, finally taking a break now someone else was looking after the others. It made sense. Sokka was perfectly capable. 

This was _not_ a repeat of Gaoling. 

It... It just couldn’t be. 

Tomkin couldn’t lose anyone else. 

“Come on,” Tomkin said, wrapping an arm around Katara’s shoulders and pulling her close as he steered her towards the main living area, “let’s eat. If he’s not back by tomorrow, we'll go looking for him.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, and Tomkin’s breath caught in his throat, because Katara was strong, terrifyingly so at times, and still, she was asking him to promise her this, her voice so quiet, so suddenly _young_. 

Tomkin let out a long breath, before smiling. “Promise.” 

And really, when had a warrior ever broken his promise? 

____ 

Logistically, this had been a nightmare. War balloons were designed to carry no more than four or five people at a time, and Chena knew that because Sokka was apparently the fucking co-inventor of war balloons. Fortunately, thanks to having said co-inventor on hand, the Chief had managed to fly with the others to the ambiguous Fire Nation island they’d docked the Ullaakut on. In a war, the strangest things gain sentiment, and their ship was one sacrifice they could set off. She wouldn’t sail into the Day of Black Sun with them. Looking back, that shared thought of ‘ _just in case_ ’ that had led them to the decision had been sounder than they ever could have feared. 

From there, Hakoda, Kanut, Sokka, the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors – _Suki_ – and three other completely random Fire Nation prisoners had boarded the Ullaakut, leaving the war balloon in the hands of the Dragon of the West, who said he would be flying to a camp in the Earth Kingdom. It was a camp dedicated to the war effort, and the royal firebender stressed that Hakoda and his men travel there as soon as they reunited with the kids. It made sense. The war effort was fragmented, but this camp seemed to be the biggest accumulation of the allied forces. 

After that, getting to Shuhon Prison had apparently been easy, and breaking in had been laughably so. Chena had known it was a weak prison from his first day there, but even a weak prison is hard to escape from the inside. The Water Tribe’s best minds tackling it from the outside, however, barely took any time. Even when Chena, Aput, Bato and Tulok had all vehemently insisted they release the Kyoshi Warriors along with them. 

The three girls had thrown themselves at this Suki girl, all tears and relief and quickly shared words. It was much the same with the men in seeing Hakoda and Kanut again, though Chena did not shed any tears, thank you very much. 

He didn’t want to keep the three Kyoshi Warrior brats by his side, especially not his infuriating partner in crime Kayda, so it made no sense at all for his heart to do the strange twist that it did when Aneko stepped forward and declared they were returning to Kyoshi Island. 

The Earth Kingdom had fallen. Kyoshi Island was on its knees, standing against the Fire Nation through its past neutrality alone, and it needed its warriors. Aneko, Keiko and Kayda would return home to do their duty. Suki would stay with Sokka; her duty lay with the Avatar. The girls were separating again, and Chena knew that would hurt them, but at least they were safe now. Well, _safer_. 

Chena had watched on beside Hakoda, Kanut and Sokka as the goodbyes took place. Bato and Keiko shared fast-paced words, Keiko giggling bittersweetly, and Aneko had thrown her arms around Tulok’s neck and was refusing to let go. Kayda punched Aput in the arm, before glaring at Chena. 

“You still owe me a weight-lifting competition.” She’d said, and Chena scoffed, ruffling her hair because he knew she hated it. 

“Don’t start fights you can’t win.” He answered, and in the beat of silence that followed, Kayda’s gaze softened minutely, and Chena found his hand just resting affectionately on her head. 

So maybe he’d miss the stupid kid. Whatever. 

The other Water Tribe warriors that had been in Shuhon agreed to being dropped off at the closest Earth Kingdom port. They would wait at General Iroh’s strange camp while the others went to fetch Tomkin and Nanook from whatever stupidity they’d gotten up to in their absence. Chena had hated the idea, hated watching his fellow warriors get left behind and having to rely on the word of _the Dragon of the West_ , but Kanut trusted the Fire Nation royal, and it seemed Hakoda did too to some extent. Enough to separate from his men after only being reunited for a few hours. 

After all, the man _was_ Zuko’s uncle, and the kid hadn’t nearly been as bad as Chena had first thought. 

And now, Chena was on the Ullaakut, loudly telling the small – smaller than what was right – group of people on the deck the tale of the Food Massacre of Shuhon Prison as they sailed towards the Western Air Temple. 

“You forgot my dashingly handsome bravery through the fight.” Bato cut Chena off just as he got to the part where him and Kayda had been forced into an alliance. 

Aput snorted. “Bravery? Your _lack_ of bravery was the reason we were in that mess.” 

“Actually," Bato frowned dramatically, “I distinctly remember a certain gambling ring being the cause.” 

“You started a _gambling ring?_ ” Hakoda spluttered in disbelief. 

Aput shrugged. “Maybe a small one.” 

“Anyway,” Tulok cut everyone off loudly, and Chena didn’t like the seriousness of his expression, “you haven’t told us about your end yet, Chief.” 

Chena had noticed that too. He had dozens of questions. Where the fuck had the war balloon come from? Why the fuck had they been with General Iroh of the Fire Nation? How the fuck had Hakoda gotten out of the Boiling Rock? Where the fuck had Kanut been taken and how was he here? 

These questions had been blatant in Chena’s stare, but neither Chief nor Angakkuq gave him any answers aside the quick rundown of what had brought them all together again. Initially, Chena had blamed it on the busyness of it all. A prison break is hardly the place for a catch up. But now, they’d been sailing for at least an hour, and still, _nothing_. 

“That’s a good question, Tulok.” Sokka grinned a little too brightly from where him a Suki stood separate to the group. “Dad, why don’t you tell them about your end? Why don’t you tell _everyone_ about your end, seeing as there’s so much you haven’t said?” 

Ah, Sokka was annoyed. The boy’s glare was hard, smile still plastered on his face, the sort of fake that just seemed exhausted. Suki was looking at him worriedly, brows pinching together, but she stayed out of it. 

Hurt flashed across Hakoda’s face, a second-long thing, before he settled into something pleading. “Sokka, why don’t you come over here? I’ll explain-.” 

“No.” Sokka scoffed, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think I'm ready to talk to you. I... I need to think. I'm sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation, but... but I need to think.” 

And with that, Sokka stormed below deck to where the other prisoners – one was called Chit Sang, Chena thought – had headed earlier. Suki stood solemnly a moment, before turning a hard gaze to the warriors. 

“I’ll talk to him.” She declared, and Hakoda nodded gratefully, before she turned and followed Sokka. 

For a few seconds, there was no sound but the waves crashing against the Ullaakut’s hull, as if things were normal and the crew were together again, convening on the deck like any other day. It didn’t last. 

“Well,” Chena said gruffly, “what the fuck was all that about?” 

Hakoda let out a dry chuckle. “Blunt as ever, Chena.” 

Chena just crossed his arms, waiting impatiently. _Of course_ he was being blunt. He hadn't seen Hakoda since the Day of Black Sun. He'd watched his Chief be dragged away with the promise of the Fire Nation’s most formidable prison waiting for him. And now he was stood before him with nothing to show for such a fate aside a faded red prison tunic. And after that performance with Sokka? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had happened. Something bad. 

Hakoda’s small smile fell from his face, and as soon as it did, he looked wrecked, as if he hadn’t slept once these past few weeks. Deciding to match Chena’s bluntness with bluntness, Hakoda drew himself up, met Chena’s hard grey stare, and said tonelessly; “We found Zuko at the Boiling Rock.” 

Tulok sucked in a sharp breath. Aput cursed. Chena stood frozen. 

Zuko. 

_Zuko._

It was relief coursing through him, embarrassingly. Because the Boiling Rock was not Fong’s base, and that was better. It had to be better. The stubborn little shit could only live so long through spite, and it seemed he’d finally escaped. But Chena’s relief soured in his mouth almost as soon as he tried to swallow it down, curling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. 

“What was he doing there?” Chena asked quietly, and Hakoda slumped, leaning against the mainmast. The mainmast that had once burned beneath a storming sky. The mainmast that had once seen a stupid boy risk his life for a crew he ought to hate. The mainmast that saw the changing of Chena’s mind. 

“’Koda?” Bato asked gently. He only called him that when he was really worried. The Second flicked a glance to Kanut, a question in his gaze. Kanut shook his head once, and Bato’s expression darkened. 

“He was there to kill General Fong.” Kanut said, turning to look at the vast sea around them, white hair catching the breeze. “He succeeded.” 

“Oh, Tui.” Tulok whispered, hand flying to his mouth in horror. 

Chena, confused, grinned wolfishly. General Fong was _dead_. The bastard was finally dead. Someone was bound to do it sooner or later. 

“ _Fuck_ yeah.” He said with a strangled laugh, vindication setting his nerves on edge, but no one else was smiling. “Wait, you’re not seriously grieving him, are you? I know he was a good alliance or whatever, but come on, Chief. I bet you were about to snap his stupid little neck yourself-.” 

“That’s not the point, Chena!” Hakoda yelled, and Chena blinked in surprise. Hakoda didn’t often yell, not like this. “I just... you didn’t see what Zuko was like about that soldier.” 

Chena frowned, catching Aput’s eye and feeling a little reassured to see his fellow warrior looking just as lost. 

“What solider?” Aput asked. 

Tulok looked like he was about to be sick, gripping the ship’s rail, his words barely a whisper. “Lee.” 

Hakoda blinked in surprise, before nodding. 

“The soldier. He was called Lee.” Tulok furthered, finally looking up. “I killed him that very first day, when our ships crossed. Zuko... he was ready to take the blame. It ate him up and he wasn’t even the one to take the lad’s life. And now-.” Tulok cut himself off with a choked gasp, dancing a shaking hand over his messy Earth Kingdom braid. 

“And now, he has to live with the fact that he purposely ran a sword through another man.” Hakoda finished, and Chena felt horror finally crest within him. 

This wasn’t about Fong. This was about _Zuko_. 

Hakoda didn’t care that Fong was dead. None of them did. Fong dying like he ought to was cause to celebrate. But Zuko, that stupid, naïve, gentle kid, wouldn’t see it like that. Chena knew it with a ferocious certainty all of a sudden, because even though Fong had unleashed four months of what Chena could only assume was pure agony, even though Zuko had every right to take that man’s life, even though Zuko was probably terrified and lost in the moment that it happened, Zuko would still be the boy that climbed the mainmast to save a warrior that had hated him, and he would never forgive himself. 

“Where is he?” Chena asked quietly. 

Kanut shut his eyes. “He went back to his father.” 

“He _what?_ ” Chena hissed. 

“Chena,” Hakoda said, “there was nothing we could do-.” 

“I can think of plenty of shit!” Chena snapped, and he didn’t quite know why he was yelling yet, but that had never stopped him before. “You should’ve fucking dragged him back with you. What were you thinking, letting him go to the Fire Nation-?” 

“You weren’t there!” Kanut shouted, and the entire deck silenced. 

If Hakoda rarely yelled, then Kanut never did. Kanut had been raised around loud voices enough to learn the powerlessness of them. 

“You think it was fucking easy, huh?” Kanut snarled, tone almost cruel, and Tui, his blue eyes were red-rimmed. “We did all we could without polarising him from us completely. Nothing in the world would have stopped that boy from doing what he did in that library. I know it. I know _him_. And if we’d just ignored that choice, if we didn’t let him go his own way, if we _dragged_ him like you so eloquently fucking suggested, he never would have trusted us again.” Kanut took a deep breath, burying his palms into his eyes. “At least this way, there’s a _chance_ he might come to us.” 

Chena had forgotten how infuriating the bond between the Angakkuq and the Fire Prince was, and scoffed dryly. This... this wasn’t how he wanted to remember. He wanted the brat here. He wanted to tease him and generally avoid his presence. He wanted his own casual bullying to be Zuko’s biggest problem. 

But it wasn’t. Because Zuko had killed someone, and now he was in the Fire Nation, and even Kanut was saying that the only thing stopping them from losing him completely was a single, infinitesimal _chance_. 

The move was Zuko’s now, and Chena wished he could say he trusted the kid to do the smart thing, but if there was one thing Chena knew better than anyone, it was that Zuko was a self-destructive idiot. 

“He shouldn’t have to bear this alone.” Hakoda whispered into the heavy silence. “I should have done more.” 

“Hey,” Bato spoke up, ignoring the threatening glance Chena shot him, “I know you, ‘Koda. I know you would have done all you could. Both of you would have.” He looked to Kanut, and the Angakkuq turned away sharply, hiding his face. “It’s up to the Prince now. If he’s half the man you’ve made him out to be,” Bato smiled here, “then he’ll be back before you know it.” 

Tui, Chena hoped so. 

He really, really hoped so. 

____ 

A prison library. A surgical incision; quick, deep, slicing down his sternum. Zuko had opened himself up, seeing the mess of his body, the stuttering of his lungs, a heart buried _somewhere_ beneath all the blood. He thought that because he was finally looking, because he finally named the rage he felt, that that was vulnerability. 

A throne room. The floor cool beneath his fingers, the barrenness of his gaze threatening to sink him. At twelve, he stood here, but it was only at seventeen that he took a stand. Zuko stepped onto the thin ice of honesty, not knowing how it would bear beneath Ozai’s weight that had never joined him on that great lake before, and when the ice shattered, when Zuko fell and willingly let the water take him, he thought that that was vulnerability. 

But he knew now the true meaning of the word. Vulnerability was the knowledge of burning and the strength to still open yourself to the fire. Zuko hadn’t done many good things in his life, but this, walking from his father, walking from the bloody legacy of his nation, walking into the hands of those who would judge the things he’d done but allowing that judgment for the greater good, _this_ was something he was proud of, _this_ was something he wouldn’t let anyone take from him. He had killed General Fong. He was twisted and terrible. He would be condemned by his uncle, who he had been cruel to, and Hakoda, who he had failed, and Sokka, who he had ignored, but Zuko was still here, still standing tall, still ready to take what they gave him if it meant trying to do _some_ good. 

And that good started with Zi Se. 

A White Lotus camp. The golden dawn pooling like honey against white tarp, a bamboo fence stood before Zuko; taunting him. Nerves curled around his spine and tightened there, paralysing him. He was going back to things and people and causes that were good, knowing he was at best a bad thing attempting a goodness he couldn’t achieve, and the vulnerability of that rendered Zuko speechless. 

Because what the _fuck_ was he supposed to tell Zi Se? 

The kid would be furious with him, rightly so. Zuko had told him he’d be back, Zuko had _promised_. And sure, he was keeping his promise, and he never said _when_ he’d be back, and it hadn’t actually been that long, but Zuko had still left Zi Se behind in the hands of a stranger. Akinari was good, better than Zuko could have been in the state he was in, but Zuko still abandoned Zi Se. What right did Zuko have to show up now? What exactly was his plan? 

What if Uncle had already taken Zi Se away, like Zuko had asked? What if he never saw the kid again? What if Uncle stopped him? What if he hated him because of the things he’d said and done that day? 

Zuko buried the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned. His head was spinning into a familiar panic, each beat of his racing heart sending waves of pain to his leg. 

That was another thing. 

Zuko had gotten quietly used to the pain of his ribs. Knowing there wasn’t anything a healer could do to help aside tell him to rest meant Zuko could sideline the ache that followed with each inhale. It wouldn’t kill him, therefore he was fine. But his leg was infected, and he’d been too distracted – scared - to check it since Mai bandaged it on the beach. He didn’t know how much worse it had gotten, but he was still standing, even after spending the night sneaking out of the Fire Nation to get back to the camp, so that had to count for something... right? 

Zuko huffed out a frustrated breath. He was being stupid. 

“You’re being stupid.” He mumbled, before taking a step forward and immediately careening to a stop again. 

Would Zi Se even _want_ to see him? Zi Se was young, and Akinari had said he’d start forgetting the horrible things he’d had to go through. What if he had already forgotten Zuko? 

“This was a bad idea.” Zuko decided, turning around. He could camp somewhere the night, gather his thoughts until heading to the Western Air Temple. He could leave Zi Se alone to the contentment the kid had undoubtedly found in Zuko’s absence. He wouldn’t interfere with Zi Se’s life. 

Zuko froze before he could walk away. Unless... Zi Se’s life wasn’t that good? What if Iroh got confused and took Zi Se back to his father? Or if something had happened to Zi Se in the few days Zuko had been gone? What if Akinari’s initial examination hadn’t been accurate and Zi Se was sick? Zuko wouldn’t be surprised; he’d missed so much when they first left Fong’s base. His mind had been thick with the smoke of a fire being desperately smothered, but now, he was letting that fire burn. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand the cause of it, or why it was still burning, or why he couldn’t just extinguish it; at least it had cleared his mind a little. Everything was almost agonisingly illuminated now. 

Zuko was lucid enough to no longer cause Zi Se any harm, accidental or not. That was one thing he could agree on. He had clarity now, which meant... which meant he needed to at least _check_. No matter what reaction he got, no matter how bad things were, he had to check. He cared too much to walk away from Zi Se. Not after everything they’d been through together. 

“I have seen men change so greatly from taking the life of another that they fall into the bowels of insanity.” A voice sounded, smooth and familiar, _bored_ , and Zuko jumped, Dao unsheathed and pointed at Tovah before he could even register what he was doing. She was leaning against the fence, like she had been before, not that long ago, when they both had missions and they both succeeded. 

“You, however,” Tovah continued, flicking her black ponytail over her shoulder, “seem to have retained the same idiocy.” 

Zuko couldn’t help his sharp smirk. “Is that your way of saying you’re happy to see me?” 

Tovah just gave him a long once-over, shamelessly taking in his entire person, head to toe, and Zuko stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Finally, she hummed, thoughtful. Zuko didn’t know what he was waiting for her to say, but Tovah had a sharp eye; if anyone were to notice a difference in him, notice _anything_ in him, it would be her. 

He didn’t realise he wanted her to notice something until he found himself holding his breath in the silence. 

_It's changed me, hasn’t it?_ He wanted to ask. _Mutilation surpasses the mind, doesn’t it?_

“Your uncle is in a meeting with some other White Lotus agents.” Was all she said, acting as if they hadn’t spent the last minute in tense silence. 

Zuko hesitated, before catching onto her hidden offer. “How long will he be?” 

“It just started.” Tovah said. “He won’t be out for a very long time.” 

For whatever reason, to benefit whatever ulterior motive, Tovah was giving Zuko this cop-out. She was granting him entry without the ordeal of having to face Iroh. Iroh, who had showed up exactly when Zuko needed him most but not before. Iroh, who had looked so vulnerable when Zuko brought up Ba Sing Se, which was in turn an unburying of Lu Ten. It had been a cruel move, especially when Iroh had just been trying to help. 

And now, Zuko had murdered a man, had gone against everything Iroh tried to teach him, had chosen the wrong side. 

Zuko was a coward; he couldn’t face him. 

“Zi Se...” Zuko started quietly, staring at the grass. “Is he... What...-” 

“He’s still here.” Tovah said monotonously, and Zuko choked on his words. 

_He's still here_. 

An uncomfortable battle of relief and confusion sank through him. He still had a chance to see Zi Se, to figure something out, to give his damn necklace back that now hung around Zuko’s neck like a ball and chain, but why was Zi Se still here? Why hadn’t Iroh done as he’d promised he would? 

Why was Zuko still getting surprised by broken promises, the currency of children? 

“Zi Se has been through enough as it is.” Tovah said, snapping Zuko out of his thoughts. “Iroh didn’t want to add _beneficial kidnapping_ to the kid’s trauma.” 

Zuko blinked owlishly, not even hiding his confusion. 

Tovah rolled her eyes. “Come on, Your Highness. Even you’re not this oblivious.” 

But Zuko, tellingly, _was_ , because he had no idea what she was talking about. His brain just fixated on the words _beneficial kidnapping_ and sent him into a protective panic. He needed to see Zi Se. Now. 

As if sensing his train of thought, Tovah sighed loudly, muttering something beneath her breath. 

“Zi Se refused to leave the camp until you came back.” She said. “Iroh wanted to take him to his aunt, but the kid was against it. Threw a pretty catastrophic tantrum. Akinari said it would have messed him up to have taken him against his will, so Iroh stalled. Though,” Tovah paused, lips curling slightly, “none of us expected a solution to arrive this easily.” 

Zuko slowly realised that he was the solution she was talking about, mind still wrapping around the fact that Zi Se had chosen his absent promise over his aunt’s reliable love. Zi Se, sweet, innocent, naïve Zi Se. And oh, it made so much sense now it had been spelled out as truth. Of course Zi Se would pick Zuko. Because even though Zuko was bad, both objectively and subjectively, Zi Se still cared about him just as Zuko still cared about Zi Se; furiously and with all of his rotten heart. 

There was a word for that kind of love, the kind of love that doesn’t bend beneath morality or experience, the kind of love that doesn’t burn and refuses to be burned. There was a word for it, and it swam to the surface of Zuko’s mind, each letter sharp and piercing with the memory of when Zuko first heard it in the same sentence as _love_. 

Unconditional. 

“Tovah,” Zuko said lowly, sliding his gaze to the Colonel, “I need to ask a favour.” 

“I already got you out of Fong’s base and brought you to the Boiling Rock.” Tovah said with an arched eyebrow. 

“True,” Zuko stood tall beneath her stare, “but I never asked you to do those things.” 

It was quiet for a few moments, before Tovah’s lips curled up in an almost impressed smile. 

“You little shit.” Tovah said quietly. Zuko had never heard her swear before, but even curses left her lips with refined purpose. 

He was right. Tovah gave those things to him. There was never any bargaining. But instead of being angry at him for having the nerve to be ungrateful, Tovah just narrowed her eyes. He was playing her at her own game, and that made him interesting. She had been watching him this whole time, but Zuko had watched her right back. The two had a precarious and inexplicable understanding, but it was an understanding all the same. 

“Alright then, Your Highness.” Tovah said after another moment’s contemplation. “A favour. You owe me.” 

“Of course.” Zuko said hurriedly before she changed her mind. 

“Let’s go then.” Tovah said, walking towards the camp’s gate and leaving Zuko staring after her in confusion, before jogging to catch up, knowing she wouldn’t wait for him. 

“I didn’t even say what I wanted yet.” Zuko hissed. 

Tovah chuckled. “You want to see Zi Se without your uncle knowing you’re here.” 

“I- yeah.” Zuko stuttered, blindsided by her infuriatingly fluent comprehension of _every fucking person she met_. How did she _do_ that? 

Zuko swallowed his anger, rolling his eyes with a mumbled; “Whatever.” 

Tovah smiled, and her amusement seemed genuine as she ushered him through the gate and began to weave through the tents. The camp was busier than when Zuko was here last, but he still recognised the basic layout of it. He shuddered to be back here. It hadn't been long but it might as well have been years. He wasn’t the boy he’d been in Fong’s base, and he wasn’t the boy he’d been in this camp either. He was an entirely new thing, polluted by his own ire. 

That familiar bitterness that always flickered alight upon this train of thought guttered as quickly as it came, because suddenly, Zuko was stood in the shadow of one of the white tents, looking out at the river he had spent so many mornings sat beside, and there, playing in the shallow water with Akinari’s careful eye watching him from a few metres away, was Zi Se. 

If a week at this camp had seen Zuko and Zi Se recover an impressive amount, then nearly two weeks made Zi Se look like someone else entirely. He’d gained weight, filling out around what had once been skeletal arms and ribs, his pale skin no longer clinging to him, instead flushed and unmarred. Zi Se’s mop of black hair was still a mess as he splashed in the water, but it seemed healthier looking, sleek beneath Agni’s touch. Zuko hardly glanced at the big grey tunic Zi Se was wearing, before freezing up, realising he recognised it. He recognised it because it was _his_. And it should have been a painful sight, but the kid had a youthfulness to him, his movements fluid and easy, and Zuko had never known Zi Se like this. The world hadn’t introduced them as kids that could be young like this. 

But there he was, and it made Zuko’s heart tighten in his chest, because still, it was undeniably _Zi Se_. He was still so adorably short – and Zuko didn’t often use the word _adorable_ – and he was still perceptive of everything as he played and he was still the little boy Zuko had known. In this handful of days, Zuko’s world had flipped into something dark, but this hadn’t changed. This had waited for Zuko to come back, and he had. 

“Hide.” Tovah said simply, startling Zuko from his thoughts. She didn’t give him time to hurriedly jump into the tent’s shadows before she was striding into view, Akinari spotting her with a smile. He still had a cast on his arm. 

“Akinari, would you help me check the infirmary’s supplies?” Tovah asked, bordering on commanding. Zuko rolled his eyes. 

Akinari threw a concerned glance to Zi Se, who was watching because he was _always_ watching, before nodding. “I’ll be right back, kid. Stay on the banks, remember.” 

“‘kay!” Zi Se said, jumping back into the shallow water. Even his voice sounded better. He was still quiet, but he sounded... he sounded like a five-year-old. Just a normal, average five-year-old. 

Zuko watched Tovah lead Akinari away, only slightly bitter that Akinari would leave Zi Se alone so easily before remembering that Tovah wasn’t the kind of person you said no to. He waited a few seconds longer than necessary, just watching Zi Se play, watching him so unburdened, before he smiled softly. 

“Zi Se!” Zuko hissed, trying to lay low to keep in case any stray White Lotus members were walking past. 

Zi Se snapped his head around, guarded. Zuko could see the exact moment the kid spotted him, amber eyes locking on gold, because his entire posture froze in disbelief, before he broke into a luminescent grin. In the next second, he was running, throwing himself into Zuko’s arms. 

Zi Se was a tiny thing, all grabby hands finding purchase on Zuko’s shoulders and small legs wrapping around his waist, and he was lighter than air to hold. But that didn’t change the fact that the kid slamming into Zuko like that led to a crash of agony inside him. Zuko blinked and saw colours behind his eyelids, and... and something might have crunched upon impact. 

But it didn’t matter, because Zi Se smelt of dirt and the ash of a campfire, and he was so warm, so tangible. He was intact. It was all for him, all of it, and to hold him like this, to be able to wrap his arms around Zi Se and feel his teary breath hit his throat – it was proof that Zuko had succeeded. Zi Se was intact. He was okay. They were okay. Whether the means were good or bad, righteous or evil, it didn’t matter right now, because the end saw them together again. _This is what you wanted_ , a part of his mind whispered. _You wanted Zi Se, and you wanted him to be safe. You got your wish._

Fong dead on the floor. Flashes of blue and orange fire, and then lightning. The smell of destruction. Blood. _This is what you wanted, isn’t it?_

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing, before looking back at Zi Se and forcing a smile. 

“You were gone ages.” Zi Se mumbled into Zuko’s shoulder, still holding him tight. 

“I know, kid. I know.” Zuko said, flattening down Zi Se’s hair. “But I'm here now. I promised I'd come back, didn’t I? And you know what?” Zuko put Zi Se down, kneeling on the grass so they were face to face. Zi Se pouted a little, but his eyes were wide, _relieved_. 

“What?” He asked, starting to smile, catching onto the strange, almost manic excitement that had grasped Zuko. 

Zuko grinned. “We’re safe now.” He whispered, thumb ghosting Zi Se’s cheek. “Fong will never get us. Not again.” 

Zi Se stared, fearful at even the mention of the man, before uttering a weak; “Promise?” 

And that little word was the biggest vulnerability of all, a question dipped in violence and desperation. Seven letters forming a question screamed into the void; _what are you willing to do?_

“I promise.” Zuko whispered back, and the void echoed back _everything, everything, everything._

____ 

Lists. Lists were good. Sokka knew lists. And plans. And maps-. 

Lists wouldn’t disappear for years on end and show up again with a sudden fondness for the Prince of the enemy nation. Sokka liked lists. So, he left the deck, found a quiet spot in the form of the left-hand bed in the Ullaakut’s infirmary – Chit Sang’s group taking over the berth deck before Sokka could - and he made a list. 

“Seriously?” Suki asked, her exasperation finally melting into impatience as she watched Sokka scrawl away with one of Kanut’s brushes. Sokka was sure the Angakkuq wouldn’t mind the petty theft; it wasn’t as bad as collusion. _Your dad has a lot to tell you, but this isn’t the time or the place._ Sokka jabbed another point onto his list. 

“It helps me think.” Sokka mumbled, brows furrowed as he desperately pulled the threads of his mind every which way, hoping laying them out on a page would untangle them, but he got the feeling he was just knotting them tighter. 

Suki sighed, before sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. The distance she left between them felt colossal, and Sokka looked up from the big _ZUKO_ he had just underlined on his ‘reasons to be pissed off’ list. 

And there was Suki, still in her prison outfit, expression tense and expectant but also... tired. 

Sokka was such an idiot. 

“Tui and La, Sooks.” He huffed, letting his list lay limp in his lap. “Sorry. I'm just-… I got so caught up in what... what happened, and with my dad and everything. I've barely asked you if you’re okay-.” 

“I’m fine, Sokka.” Suki said, relaxing into a small smile that fell as quick as it came. “Or at least I will be. It was hard there, but I'm out now.” 

It wasn’t enough to fool Sokka. Suki was strong. She prided herself on being strong. And after the things Azula had said, the things she’d implied... Sokka shuddered to remember the terrified helplessness he’d felt. Suki had been trapped in that prison, and every day she was there was another day Sokka failed her. She was here now, safe, and that was great, but it didn’t change the facts. 

Sokka should have been better. 

He should have been better about a lot of things, actually. 

He flicked his blue eyes back down to the list in his lap. _Reasons To Be Pissed Off_ , already with four hastily scribbled down points, but Sokka knew what they all boiled down to, the invisible fifth point that sat like ash on his tongue. 

_Myself_ , Sokka thought bitterly, _I'm angry at myself._

“You’d tell me though, right?” Sokka asked quietly, still staring at his list because looking at Suki tended to turn his mind to mush. “If you weren’t alright, I mean. I-,” Sokka forced a chuckle, “I might just be a pretty face, but you can still talk to me. About _anything_.” 

Suki moved forward, swooping his hand into both of hers and squeezing. _Hard_. Enough to startle Sokka’s gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and it trapped his breath in his throat. 

“ _Sokka_.” She hissed, and she made it so his name sounded powerful, worthy, _useful_. “You think I don’t know that? You’re-,” she always scrunched her nose a little when she was trying to find the right words, and Sokka was struck by a sudden wave of fondness that made him almost ignore the way her near desperate voice was making his heart thump painfully, “you’re so capable, Sokka. Did you know that? Of all the warriors and benders I’ve met, I've never known anyone as capable as you. You adapt yourself. You let yourself change. Remember how much of an asshole you were when we met?” 

“I mean, that’s a very strong word.” Sokka scoffed, but her sharp glare made him raise his hand that wasn’t restrained in her grip, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Yes, I was an asshole. A horrible, sexist asshole. But I've learnt the error of my ways and I'm on a strict diet of respect women juice now.” 

Suki slapped his knee at his teasing, but she was smiling a little, and it sent a ray of warmth through Sokka. At least he could still make Suki smile. 

“Ha, very funny.” Suki deadpanned with an eyeroll. “Look at me dying of laughter. My point is,” she sighed, “you _do_ change. You listen, and you learn, and you adapt. _That’s_ what makes you capable. _That’s_ what makes you strong. Not some bending or weaponry or tactics. Just _you,_ Sokka. That's what makes you my...” 

Sokka had to admit, he was enjoying the impromptu praise. Suki had a way of ripping out the worries in his mind and dissecting them in front of him before he even got the chance to notice them himself, leaving them raw and vivid in his hands for him to comprehend in his own time. But the way she trailed off made the infirmary suddenly feel tiny. My _what?_ What exactly were they? Friends? Friends who kissed sometimes? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Trauma bonded with benefits? 

Mentally, Sokka underlined his name on his list, because he’d desperately avoided this conversation with Suki, and now he’d led her into it by the hand. He glanced down at their still interlocked fingers, suddenly feeling sweaty. _Literally_ led her by the hand. 

“I think,” Suki said carefully after a few beats of painful silence, “we need to talk.” 

And yeah, they did. Because Sokka had felt different for a while now. When he met Suki, he was naïve and inexperienced, and she was this beautiful girl who could kick his ass and snap back at his sarcastic quips, and he liked her. He really, really liked her. But then Yue happened, and he tried not to let it change him, but it changed everything. Every night, he felt her there. Every day, he thought of her. Her smile, her laugh, her shy eyes but steady stare, her crippling sense of duty, of honour. It got her killed. It got her killed and Sokka knew she’d do it again in a heartbeat, because her people came first, because she was brave, because she was _Yue_. 

Because Sokka couldn’t protect her. 

When Sokka travelled down the Serpent’s Pass with Suki a few weeks ago, he’d tried to pretend everything was how it used to be between them. The time they’d spent apart and the things that happened during that time didn’t have to mean anything, didn’t have to be so crushing, but Sokka just couldn’t fake it. 

Death had collapsed him, earthquake to the home, leaving him no more than a pile of rubble. And Tui, Sokka had tried so hard to rebuild himself, but he was no architect, and the materials went back into place messily, the foundations unsteady. A smaller shock of the initial destruction would be enough to floor him, and sure enough, he got that shock. 

Death had collapsed him in the form of Yue, and death had knocked down his attempts at reconstruction in the form of Fong. And Sokka hated it, hated the way his skin crawled at the memory of that Spirits-forsaken library and what happened there only a couple of days ago, hated for a man like Fong to even live in the same sentence as Yue, but death was still death, and Sokka was still a teenager, and it devastated him. 

Deep down, Sokka's indignance at being patronised didn’t come from denial of his youth. He knew he was young. He knew he shouldn’t know about these things. But he _had_ to. That was the world they lived in. That was the truth of war. And there’s a certain type of pain to that; to accepting you’re too young to be carrying something and still, despite that acceptance, having nowhere to put it down. Yue died because he didn’t protect her, and he missed her every fucking day. Fong, though... Fong died because Sokka helped Zuko, Sokka chose Zuko, Sokka trusted Zuko. He didn’t-. He couldn’t bring himself to regret anything he did, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d aided a murder. Accidentally or not, he’d aided a murder. 

So yeah, him and Suki needed to talk, because he loved Suki, and she made his heart do stupid things, and she was brilliant, but he just needed... 

Needed _what?_ Space? Time? It was all so fucking cliché. 

“I get it.” Suki said quietly, and Sokka realised how long he’d been quiet. “Me too.” 

“I didn’t even say anything.” Sokka said, trying for a weak smile, but he felt that easy warmth settle over him, the same warmth he’d felt in the storage cupboard of the Boiling Rock, the warmth of acknowledgement, of understanding. Sokka hadn’t realised how desperate he’d been to spend time with people his age, but he supposed it explained a lot. It explained his persistence with Yue, his instant connection to Suki, and maybe... maybe it explained the blind trust he’d placed in Zuko. 

Sokka had trusted the enemy because he’d been lonely, and it led to a man’s death. 

_Nice one, Sokka._

Sokka sighed, shaking his head a little to clear his thoughts, before nudging Suki’s leg. 

“Still friends?” Suki asked, hope hidden beneath a teasing façade. 

Sokka scoffed. “As if I'd let you ditch me.” 

“Well,” Suki mused thoughtfully, her smile coming easier now, “I suppose you have grown on me.” 

Sokka beamed, wiggling his eyebrows and jabbing her ribs. “Yeah?” He asked, memorising her surprised giggle, because that was one thing Sokka knew about Suki that no one else did; she was ticklish. 

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She said, desperately shoving his hand away, his list falling to the floor as he got her in a headlock, just for Suki to whack him square in the chest. 

“Nope!” Sokka yelled as they continued to wrestle. “It’s already gone. It's there. It's making itself at home. Rent free- argh!” 

Sokka’s laughter cut into a shout as Suki finally, with a victorious and unladylike _‘oof’_ sound - shoved him off the bed. 

As far as break-ups went, Sokka thought, looking up at Suki, clutching his aching leg through laughter, watching as she covered her mouth to muffle her own hysterical giggling, this wasn’t so bad. The air was thick, bittersweet, and at the back of Sokka’s mind, he still held onto his anger at how unfair this all was. This war ruined everything it touched, and now it was taking Suki from him. But for now, they were just two friends laughing together, and that was okay. 

Just two friends. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Hakoda’s voice saw Sokka and Suki jumping, snapping their gaze to the man currently taking up the entire doorway and still looking unmenacing as he fidgeted awkwardly. 

"Only your son being an idiot.” Suki said sweetly, and Sokka threw her a betrayed glare. 

“Yes well,” Hakoda huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was wondering if the idiot son in question would be up for a chat?” 

Dad was acting weird. Sokka knew what he got like when he wanted to talk. Hakoda got stiff, serious, stern. He turned his Chief-ness onto Sokka and Katara, and it was intimidating, to say the least. This... wasn’t that. Hakoda’s voice was soft, nervous, and his blue eyes kept flicking to the bed Suki was still sat on, the sheets that had been almost peculiarly untouched when they came into the infirmary now messy and pulled half to the floor with Sokka. 

“Sokka would love to chat!” Suki said, and Sokka gaped at her. She threw him a meaningful stare, a cross between ‘get your head out your ass’ and ‘I’m trying to help whether you like it or not’. Sokka, reluctantly, knew she was right. He might not be ready for answers just yet, but he still needed to talk to his dad. If only because Hakoda had been taken to prison, and they still hadn’t had a chance to just be relieved that they were together again. 

With that and one last pleading look in Sokka’s direction, Suki got up and left. 

“So...” Sokka started awkwardly, clambering to his feet and smoothing down the guard’s tunic he was still wearing. 

“... So.” Hakoda agreed. 

____ 

What now? 

Zuko had left the Fire Nation. He’d seen Zi Se and made sure the kid was okay. He'd confirmed that people Zuko trusted – Iroh, Akinari and, peculiarly, Tovah – were keeping an eye on Zi Se. 

So what now? 

Zi Se was in the middle of excitedly telling Zuko about a bird he’d seen on the river yesterday, throwing out his arms to mimic how big it had been, and Zuko let himself tune out with a fond smile. It was how it used to be with them, that steady presence of one another, reminding them that they weren’t alone, that while they were still together, things would be alright. 

Was Zuko going to leave Zi Se behind again? 

Zi Se needed to be with his aunt. It was Zi Se’s only chance for a normal childhood. His life with Zuko was bloodstained and the proximity of all that trauma made it loud. The further Zi Se went, the quieter it would be, and the easier the kid could move on. He needed to forget it all. He needed to be with his family. His real family. 

But Zuko didn’t know Zi Se’s aunt, and realistically, War Minister Qin wouldn’t stand by and let his son be taken twice. If not out of love then out of stubborn pride. Zuko knew that all too well, had seen the possessive glint in his own father’s eyes when Zuko was returned to his ownership. 

Maybe if Zi Se had chosen them, maybe if Zi Se had pushed for it, Zuko would swallow his personal desires and take Zi Se back to his aunt. But Zi Se hadn’t asked for that, and from what Tovah had said, all insinuation of Zi Se being taken from Zuko was met with wild opposition from Zi Se. 

The decision hit Zuko suddenly and with a clarity that made his breath catch. 

Zi Se needed to stay with Zuko. 

Zi Se needed to stay with Zuko, and Zuko wasn’t staying at the White Lotus camp, which meant Zi Se had to come with him to the Western Air Temple. 

“Zi Se?” Zuko asked softly, cutting off Zi Se’s story. “I need you to be really grown up with me, can you do that?” 

Zi Se straightened, jutting out his chin. “I _am_ grown up. I’m nearly six.” 

Zuko couldn’t help but smile, swallowing a scoff. “Good, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” The kid beamed proudly. “Thing is, Zi Se, I'm not coming back to the camp. I need to do something really important, and I was wondering if you want to come with me or stay here? The choice is yours, but I need you to think really maturely about this.” 

Zi Se was still grinning, bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited at the prospect of an adventure, but at Zuko’s last sentence, he at least had the decency to feign seriousness, narrowing his eyes and humming thoughtfully. 

The choice was his. It was important he knew the choice was his. 

“I’d like to come with you.” Zi Se said, voice as quiet as ever, and there it was. With those few words, the burden of caring for this incredible kid was placed back on Zuko alone all over again. And Zuko was angry and confused, but he wasn’t haunted anymore. All his shadows were behind him, and he could do this. He could take care of Zi Se. He could protect him. He'd put his bit of good back into the world, some sort of karma against all the bad he’d done, and it wouldn’t make Zuko a better person – it was too late for that – but he could at least do right by Zi Se. Because Zi Se deserved to be loved, and that was one thing Zuko knew he could do. 

“Alright then,” Zuko smiled, reaching for him, his hand completely enveloping Zi Se's, “there’s a market on the way to where we’re going. We can get food and get you some new clothes. First though,” Zuko threw a look to the camp still living on obliviously around where they huddled behind the tent, “we gotta sneak back out of here.” 

____ 

When Tovah finally grew bored of stalling Akinari and making him complete mindless tasks that he did without question, she returned to the tent by the river. Surprise wasn’t the word, but when she realised fairly quickly that there was no sign of Prince Zuko or Zi Se, she felt something stir deep in her gut. It was the same feeling she got when people-watching, or when she made an advancement on her Dai Li file. 

_Intrigue_. 

This was one part of herself that Tovah had never understood. She specialised in logic and intelligence, and those were things that required certain rulebooks. And people worked by rulebooks, whether they realised it or not. They had patterns and followed trends. They were predictable. In their complexity, they were simple. 

But this... love of the chase that Tovah had, this exhilaration she felt whenever she solved something, it bore no logic. She dedicated five years of her life to uncovering the Dai Li, and barely batted an eye at the knowledge that a group of kids beat her to the killing blow. Because it was never about winning; it was about the five years building up to it. The hunting, the learning, the connections. _The chase_. She felt it for the sake of feeling it, and that bothered her. It was a weakness that could be used against her. 

And here, with his sudden appearance, his crooked smile in the wake of bloodying his hands, his vanishing act that took Zi Se with him – the Prince had made himself intriguing. 

Tovah tutted, walking slowly along the riverbank. She didn’t need to figure out Prince Zuko. She didn’t care about him, and she certainly didn’t need to waste energy on him. 

But she just _had_ to. 

So, Tovah closed her eyes a moment, and started to think. 

Prince Zuko convinced himself he was bad for Zi Se, which meant it wasn’t completely certain that Zuko had been the one to initiate this departure. There was a slim chance that this had malicious intent behind it; an external factor. That would mean someone got into the camp. With the Prince’s history, kidnapping attempts weren’t as uncommon as they ought to be. But this camp was well defended, and there were people everywhere. This quiet riverbank with no sign of a struggle right in the middle of camp didn’t seem to have witnessed a fight, which turned Tovah towards the other possibility: the Prince left with Zi Se. 

Still, Prince Zuko had a gentle side, and he would know that first assumptions wouldn’t regard this optimistically. Iroh, least of all. Zuko had a gentle side, and he also knew how much his uncle worried, how much he insisted on seeing the best in him. 

Which meant if the Prince had left, taking Zi Se with him, then he would have done so knowing how it would look. If the Prince and Zi Se had truly left of their own volition, there would be a sign somewhere, an indication that they were okay and this was their choice. 

Tovah walked over to the tent she’d left Prince Zuko beside. At first, she didn’t see anything, but as she absentmindedly kicked the tarp a little with her foot, she felt her lips curl into a smile. 

Staring up at her from the floor, colours vibrant against the green grass, hidden from everyone except those looking, was the distinctive mask of the Blue Spirit. 

“Touché, Your Highness.” Tovah whispered. 

____ 

Hakoda knew he needed to say something. Sokka was angry and he had every right to be angry, and Hakoda had barged in here, the speech he’d gone over briefly with Bato still fresh in his mind, but at the sight of the infirmary, of the left-hand bed being used for the first time since-… 

He’d had frozen up, and now his mouth felt dry and Sokka was _still waiting for him to talk._

In the end, it was Sokka who broke the silence, sounding a little caught off guard, eyes focussed on something just over Hakoda’s shoulder. 

“You still have his sword.” 

Hakoda flinched, suddenly feeling every inch of the Fire Nation sword still strapped to his back. The warriors didn’t use broadswords like Zuko’s Dao, and Hakoda had no sheath that would accommodate it. His best bet had been attaching it how he would a spear when going hunting, stringing it over his shoulders like a scabbard. Aside sleeping, he hadn’t taken it off since Zuko handed it him in the Boiling Rock, smiling. _It wouldn’t be the first time you broke a promise._

Sokka was waiting for an answer, but Hakoda had nothing to give. He didn’t know how to explain the significance of this, of all it represented, of the loss Hakoda carried in this blade. 

When the silence began to stretch, Sokka scoffed, a harsh, disappointed sound. “I don’t understand, dad. He's the _Fire Prince_.” 

“I know,” Hakoda finally found his voice, “I should have told you sooner.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka snapped, and beneath the anger on his expression, there was hurt, “yeah, you should've. I just...” Sokka trailed off, swallowing thickly as he searched for the right words. “I have so many questions, but I'm just _tired_ , dad. We just broke into two Fire Nation prisons, for La’s sake, and then everything with Suki... And now I have to deal with this?” 

Hakoda had thought Sokka and Suki were getting on well, but he didn’t understand the relationship they had, whether it was purely platonic or something more. It was something a father ought to know, but it was clear that this was just another piece of his son’s life that Hakoda had missed. _Two years_. It was such a broad statement. Each warrior had it stamped onto their tongues. _Two years at war. Two years away from home._ It wasn’t good enough. It didn’t convey exactly how much they’d lost in that time. 

Because Hakoda had been gone for two years, and that wasn’t an awfully long time in the big scheme of things, but here was his son, his child, and Hakoda didn’t know if he had a girlfriend or not, didn’t know how he liked his tea, he couldn’t remember if it was the freckles on Sokka’s shoulder or back that mapped out the constellation aagjuuk, he didn’t know who taught Sokka to do such a good warrior’s wolf tail, but he knew _it wasn’t him._

Hakoda didn’t know how to fill the hole he’d left behind in his family. He thought once the war was over, all he would have to do is return. He thought it was that simple, that things would slot back into normality. But he realised now that he’d left scars on the places he’d detached himself. He hadn’t told Sokka things, and Hakoda had missed things, and it was hurting his son. He was hurting him, and he didn’t know how to fix this. 

Hakoda moved. He crossed the room and sat on the right-hand bed, indicating for Sokka to do the same. Cautiously, he did, the two sitting side by side, and looking at Sokka made Hakoda’s heart swell with joy, pride, love. 

“I know we talked it over before the Day of Black Sun, back with your sister.” Hakoda started, crediting himself with the steadiness of his voice. “But that was mainly Katara, and I know you’ve never been good at talking about what’s bothering you, son.” 

Sokka looked away, his stern front breaking a little beneath his sheepishness, and Hakoda may have missed things, but he knew this. He knew his son was kind, and he was smart, and him and Katara were the best decision Hakoda ever made. 

“You’re angry with me,” Hakoda continued, “and that’s okay. I hid so much from you guys to try and protect you, and I got so distracted by that that I didn’t see it building a wall between us.” Hakoda took a deep breath around the lump in his throat, tentatively holding Sokka’s hand. Sokka hesitated, before clutching his fingers between Hakoda’s. “You’re tired. You should get some food, sleep. We’ll arrive at the Air Temple soon, and we can just write the night off. But tomorrow, if you’re ready, I can explain it all. No more secrets. I'd like to take down that wall, Sokka.” 

Sokka’s blue eyes were wide, and he was doing a poor job of hiding the way his lower lip was wobbling a little. He was so much stronger than he used to be, all broad shoulders and sharp jaw, but his eyes were the same. 

“I- yeah,” Sokka finally said, “I think I'd like that.” 

“Good.” Hakoda released a relieved breath. “Good, that’s good.” 

His eyes were drawn to the bed in front of them, the furs twisted and the pillow dented by limbs. Zuko always made his bed. Sokka didn’t. They were two different people, and Hakoda never meant to shrink himself to only fit one in his heart, but he wouldn’t do that again. What happened to Zuko had blindsided Hakoda, but that didn’t give him the right to ignore his son. From now on, Hakoda would hold onto them both. 

Tomorrow, he would tell Sokka and Katara everything that happened in that month on the Ullaakut, about rum heists and bowsprits, about caribou-yak and southern lights. 

Today though, they would rest. 

____ 

“You’re limping.” Zi Se said quietly, frowning at the ground as Zuko carried him on his hip through the market. Zuko had carried Zi Se like this dozens of times before. The kid was clingy, and back at the White Lotus camp, Zuko had liked having him close, and besides, he’d never been able to say no to Zi Se. But now, each step he took was making his leg sting, and it was starting to get hard to ignore. 

“I’m fine.” Zuko said, stopping in front of a stall and buying a small burlap sack of assorted fruits. The market was in the Colonies, leaving them still an unfortunate distance away from the Western Air Temple, but they’d covered considerable ground since they left the camp. If they managed to get a ride over to the temple from the western point of the Colonies, then they should arrive just before it became too dark to travel safely. 

But it was a lot of ground to cover in a single day, and Zuko had already spent the entire night travelling from the Fire Nation. On a normal day, he’d be exhausted. On a day where he was carrying a five-year-old and had an infected leg wound, he felt close to passing out. Agni, was it always so warm in the Colonies? Zuko felt like the ridiculously expensive fabric of his Fire Nation clothes was sticking to him. He'd planned to buy new clothes for them here anyway – all it would take was one passer-by with a keen gaze to catch onto the fact that Zuko’s clothes were of royal quality for them to run into trouble – but now, Zuko couldn’t get to the seamstress quick enough. 

She was young, and she smiled widely when Zuko stopped in front of her stall, brown hair tied back into a low bun, some unruly strands falling forward into her slightly flushed face. 

“Hello there, how can I help you?” She smiled, and Zuko wasn’t listening because he was looking over the clothes before him. The front of the stall was a barrage of reds and greens and no blues. This was supposed to be a simple shopping trip; Zuko would buy a couple more outfits for him and Zi Se and then they’d go. But he was just _staring_. 

Zuko was the Fire Prince. He was wearing Fire Nation clothes already. For the three years he was away from home, he continued to wear Fire Nation clothes. It was part of his identity. Not like his blood or bending that was inherent, but a part of his person that _he chose_. 

And Zuko hadn’t chosen the Fire Nation. Well, he _had_ , but not this Fire Nation. Not this blood-red and tyranny. 

He hadn't chosen the Earth Kingdom either. 

“Have you got anything in black?” Zuko asked, voice hoarse as he cut off the girl’s enthusiastic spiel about sales. She blinked in surprise, and Zuko, despite everything that he’d done, everything that happened, still felt a bolt of guilt strike him. She was only doing her job, and he was being rude. 

“We have some basic ao dai and robes,” the girl said, tilting her chin at her wares, “but we have a lovely new set of grey tunics. They're pricier than the black ones but the quality makes it worth it.” 

“No greys, thanks.” Zuko said, trying for _polite_ and probably managing _tolerating_. Grey, like the ruined prison tunic Zi Se was still wearing, earning a few unsubtle glances from the seamstress. 

“Black it is.” The girl smiled, before bowing and disappearing into the racks of clothes around her. 

After far too much time had passed, Zuko and Zi Se moved on from the stall, changed into cheap all-black clothes, the fabric thin. It wouldn’t do much to keep them warm at nights, leading Zuko to buy a few woven blankets from the girl too, but it at least didn’t feel as encasing as Zuko’s Fire Nation clothes had. He was still too warm though, and Zi Se was still insisting on being carried, and they still had a long way to go. 

They were walking through a forest, Agni threatening to set in the distance, when Zuko finally needed to have a break. He eased Zi Se off him before collapsing to the floor, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his head tilt forward. His leg was burning, a migraine pulsing behind Zuko’s eyes with each beat of his heart. He'd seen the neat bandages done by Mai’s hand back when he was getting dressed, but he still refused to look at the wound. He had no healing supplies on him. All he gained from looking was losing ability to deny that he was fine. 

“Thirsty?” Zuko asked weakly, offering the waterskin to Zi Se, who was stood close by, watching Zuko with clearly concerned amber eyes. 

Zi Se shook his head. The kid didn’t seem nearly as hot as Zuko was, and now he wasn’t thirsty? Zuko’s own throat felt impossibly dry, every swig of water leaving him dissatisfied. 

Something was seriously wrong. 

Maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Zuko, after telling the Water Tribe about Ozai’s plans, asked Kanut for help? 

Zuko shoved the waterskin back into his bag a little too angrily, hauling himself to his feet by a tree branch. What was he thinking? The last time he saw Kanut, he’d stabbed Fong in the chest and refused the healer’s attempts at helping. Kanut was _good_ , truly and indubitably. And Zuko... wasn’t. It was that simple. They wouldn't want him with them any longer than he had to be, and that was okay. He'd bought enough supplies from the market that him and Zi Se could go anywhere. He'd think of something for them. 

Zuko began to walk again, putting pressure on his aching leg out of spite, and it didn’t take long for Zi Se to start tugging on his tunic like he always did. 

“Walk on your own for a bit, kid. I need a break.” Zuko said, not looking down. They had to make it to the temple before it got too dark. They'd already lost enough time. The comet was coming, and plans needed to be made. 

For a while, it was blissfully quiet, and Zuko had just begun pondering the consequences of them having another break, maybe starting a small fire, hunting some fox-antelope to have an actual cooked meal before another long stretch of walking to the coast, before boredom began to hit Zi Se. 

“Are we there yet?” The kid asked hopefully, and Zuko frowned, looking at their surroundings that were very clearly woodland-ish and not at all Air Temple-ish. 

“No.” He said, thinking that was the end of it. 

And it was, until a few minutes later. 

“Are we there yet?” 

“No.” 

“Now?” 

“ _No._ ” 

“How about now?” 

“Agni,” Zuko huffed beneath his breath, before whirling on a grinning Zi Se, “we’re gonna stop and have some dinner. If you collect some firewood, I'll teach you how to hunt. How's that sound?” 

That got Zi Se’s attention, and he squealed in excitement before running off, picking up any sticks and twigs he could find. Zuko sighed in relief, slumping to the ground, allowing himself a moment to shakily stretch out his leg. He didn’t know about infections or their symptoms, but he did know that his was getting worse. 

Zuko began to lay out some of the food they bought from the market, and Zi Se returned a little while later with firewood he’d managed to collect while still staying within Zuko’s line of sight. It was a pretty pathetic pile, but he held it in his small arms like it was the most impressive thing he’d ever done, so Zuko kept his mouth shut. A blue spark leapt from his palm and caught the wood in a burst of orange, and Zuko blinked at the colour but kept still. 

Zi Se, however, jumped away from it, scrambling back. 

“Hey,” Zuko said softly, moving to Zi Se’s side and pulling him onto his lap, letting the kid hide his face in the folds of Zuko’s tunic, “it’s okay. It's just a fire. I've got complete control of it.” 

Slowly, Zi Se pulled his face back, staring at the flickering flames. 

Zuko carefully moved his hand, still holding Zi Se firmly but managing to rummage through his bag until his fingers locked around a thin handle. His dagger. 

“Cool sword.” Zi Se said when Zuko pulled it out, and Zuko chuckled, twirling the dagger around with the ease of practise. 

“Actually,” he said, pressing his thumb to the blade and feeling satisfied when the blunt edge didn’t so much as scratch him, let alone draw blood, “this is an Earth Kingdom dagger. See the inscription there? It says ‘ _never give up without a fight’._ ” 

Zi Se’s eyes were wide, impressed, and his jaw dropped when Zuko carefully handed him the dagger. 

“You keep it.” Zuko said, smiling warmly when Zi Se’s eager hands clutched the handle. “And anytime you feel scared, remember that it’s there, and that you’re safe now.” 

Zi Se’s smile matched Zuko’s now, oblivious to the fire right in front of him as he ogled the dagger. Zuko let himself watch for a few seconds longer, memorising the innocence to Zi Se’s smile, the gentle way he held the dagger, the very simple, untainted happiness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, before Zuko got to his feet again, picking Zi Se up with him. 

“You ever hunted before?” He asked, and Zi Se’s smile became a wild grin. 

Of course Zi Se hadn’t hunted before, because he was the son of a nobleman and all of his meals had been provided for him until, suddenly, they weren’t. Zuko, however, had been lucky enough to have a pretty good teacher, and now him and Zi Se were crouched in the bushes, watching a fox-antelope grazing obliviously a few metres away. 

Zuko had pulled out a dagger of his own, sharpened, and it wasn’t the same as hunting with a spear, but he could apply the basic gist of it. Zi Se hadn’t noticed yet that his dagger was practically useless, too excited over the thought of something as far-fetched and new as _hunting_. 

“First,” Zuko said, tone hushed, “you gotta hold it right. Lower down the handle- there you go.” Zuko beamed proudly when Zi Se got a clumsy but solid hold on the dagger. “You’re a natural.” 

“What now?” Zi Se asked, excited. 

Zuko turned back to the fox-antelope, its coat a rich brown, almost orange, completely oblivious to their presence. 

“Now, I'm gonna throw mine.” Zuko said simply, because it _was_ simple. He was hardly going to ask Zi Se to do it, and besides, it was just hunting. 

Which is why when Zuko turned his full attention on the animal, breathing through his mouth and holding the dagger the right way, he didn’t expect the sudden wave of reluctance that hit him. His heart twisted, stomach curling in revulsion as he pictured the blade burying into the animal’s neck. He felt unsteady, and then he felt the anger boiling beneath his skin begin to break the surface. 

He had killed a man. Zuko had _killed_ a man in _cold blood_. He'd hunted him down and murdered him. He saw it every time he fell asleep. He was corrupted down to his very soul, an evil, heartless thing. 

And now he couldn’t kill a fucking animal? 

But... but this fox-antelope never did him any harm. It never did Zi Se any harm. It never did anyone any harm. They had food back by the fire that he bought at the market. They didn’t need to kill this creature. 

Zuko sighed loudly, frustrated but resigned, before purposely breaking a twig beneath his shoe. The fox-antelope's head snapped up and, just like that, it was running away. 

“We lost it!” Zi Se cried in dismay, and Zuko feigned disappointment. 

“Maybe next time, kid.” 

Their short break was enough for Zuko to feel steadier on his feet again when they started walking, but it only assuaged Zi Se’s boredom for a little while. By the time they managed to get a boat to cut right across the water to the Western Air Temple, the kid was hounding Zuko again. 

It was going to be a long, long day. 

____ 

“Water is water. Water is wet.” Katara said, quickly losing her temper. She'd tried very hard to stay out of Tomkin and Nanook’s ridiculous debate, but Tomkin had quickly converted it into a way to keep her mind off Sokka, and now it was getting out of hand. The sun was setting on the Western Air Temple, and the group of them had trickled into the main room like they always did before bed. They did this every night, just sat on their bedrolls around the fire and talked, and it reminded Tomkin so much of the other warriors that it hurt sometimes. 

“Ah, water makes things wet.” Nanook countered, pointing dramatically. “That doesn’t make it wet.” 

“I think I know my own element.” Katara seethed, massaging her temples before shooting a look to Aang, who had, until now, remained blissfully uninvolved. “Aang, you can waterbend, what do you think?” 

Aang’s grey eyes widened, as if he had been caught breaking the law, and he laughed awkwardly when all eyes turned to him expectantly. 

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t really have an opinion.” He said diplomatically, before looking over to Katara. “But if I had to pick, I'd say water is wet.” 

Tomkin groaned, disappointed that the Avatar would derail such an important debate in favour of romantic biases, even if he had just agreed with Tomkin’s argument. 

“You would take her side.” Nanook mumbled childishly from beside Tomkin, making Tomkin snicker. 

“What did you say?” Aang asked innocently, missing Nanook’s words. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.” Tomkin said, pettily crossing his arms but unable to keep up his annoyed façade when Haru snorted at Aang’s frustration. 

“Airbending isn’t weatherbending!” Aang cried, and the group erupted into laughter. 

Tomkin was just about to hit them with another reason why he was right about water being wet - aside the obvious argument of ‘it’s a fucking given’ - when Toph jumped to her feet, head turned towards the room’s entrance. The group silenced, all of them watching her nervously as she stomped outside, disappearing from view. 

Tomkin turned to Nanook. “What-?” 

“Tomkin?! Nanook?!” Toph’s shrill shout cut through the quiet, making the two boys jump to attention. “Your massive fucking egos are needed outside!” 

They didn’t need to be called twice, scrambling up and jogging out into the cool evening air. Toph didn’t make a fuss over nothing, _ever_. She must have felt something with her _feet-sight_ or whatever it was she called it. 

Nanook’s serious expression was a mirror of Tomkin’s as they flanked Toph, Tomkin’s fingers wrapping around the machete he’d started carrying on him. He wasn’t much of a warrior, not by a long shot, but he’d die for those kids in that temple. He'd die a hundred times to fulfil his duty, to keep them safe, to make his Chief proud. 

The Western Air Temple was beautiful in the sunset like this, orange rays dancing over old tan rock. There was a small staircase this side of the temple, carved into the cliff and providing a narrow passage up to the plateau above. And Tomkin could hear something. Feet against dry pebbles, muffled voices. 

“Someone found us.” Nanook hissed, pulling out a machete of his own, moving fluidly into a defensive stance. “Toph, get the others. Me and Tomkin will-.” 

“Did you get skinnier Little Tom, or do my eyes fucking deceive me?” A loud voice boomed, and Tomkin dropped his machete in surprise. 

Because there, behind the others who were now carefully making their way down the steps, was Chena. 

And Tulok and Aput and Bato and Kanut and Hakoda. They were all here, healthy, alive, grinning at him. Then Sokka appeared at the top of the stairs with a girl Tomkin didn’t recognise, and _they were all here._

They were okay. 

Spirits, they were okay. 

Hakoda was the first to the temple, but was almost knocked back again by the force of Tomkin throwing himself at him. 

“Easy, Little Tom.” Hakoda laughed, the sound reverberating through Tomkin’s chest as the Chief held him tight. No one had called him Little Tom in weeks. 

“How..?” Toph asked, currently clutching onto Sokka’s arm in disbelief, looking a little shell-shocked. 

“Is that a tattoo?!” Nanook shrieked, pulling back from the bone-crushing hug Chena was giving him in favour of yanking down the warrior’s sleeve, revealing a cute little tattoo of a teacup on his shoulder. _Cute_ and _Chena_ were not two words Tomkin ever thought would go in a sentence together. 

“What’s going on-?” 

The noise must have drawn the others out of the temple, because Hakoda let Tomkin go, allowing him to twist and see Aang and Katara stood gawking at the group before them. Katara’s shock only lasted a second before she was grinning, eyes slightly teary. 

“Dad!” She called, running to him. “How are you here?” 

Tomkin hopped out of the way, letting them have a moment and turning on Kanut, who’d managed to escape the gleeful reunions so far. 

“Little Tom, if you even _try_ and hug me-.” 

Tomkin cut him off with a tight hug, wrapping his arms around the Angakkuq’s torso and refusing to let go. 

“You know you love it.” Tomkin beamed, because Kanut was _there_ , in the flesh and warm right beneath Tomkin’s touch. “Say you love it.” 

The healer sighed, but Tomkin heard him try and muffle an amused scoff. “I suppose this is tolerable.” 

“You said you were going on a _fishing trip!_ ” Katara was shouting, no real venom in her tone as she shoved Sokka. Tomkin watched the two squabble before Sokka pulled his sister close, holding onto her a second longer than normal, and he watched Aput and Bato laugh loudly with Nanook about something, and he watched Aang flutter about everyone excitedly, and Tomkin smiled. It felt like all the terror that had piled on Tomkin’s shoulders had just been lifted and hurled away from him in a matter of seconds. Sokka was back, the warriors were okay, it was no longer his and Nanook’s sole responsibility to take care of the kids - everything was very suddenly _great._

If only Zuko were here. 

Tomkin perked up, mind racing through his skewed memories of the Day of Black Sun. General Fong. He'd been with them. 

“Kanut?” Tomkin asked, pulling back and looking seriously at the healer, serious enough that it made Kanut narrow his eyes. 

“What is it?” Kanut asked gruffly. 

“Did Fong say anything more to Hakoda? About Zuko?” Tomkin asked, and despite everything, he still let hope sit quiet on his tongue. 

He swallowed it down in one smooth motion at the way Kanut’s face completely _fell_ at that question. 

“Stay awake tonight, when the others go to sleep.” Kanut said, clapping a hand to Tomkin’s shoulder and squeezing just a little too tight. “Sokka wants nothing to do with it until he’s got his head in the right place, so Hakoda’s telling the others tomorrow. But you and Nan deserve to know first.” 

Tomkin felt his heart rattle against his ribs as it fell, breath stuttering as he stared Kanut down, hopeful turned helpless. _Ominous_ didn’t quite cut it, but what could Tomkin do? 

They told him later. Kanut had been right; Sokka excused himself, feigning a headache after such a hectic past few days, and the younger kids went to sleep quicker than they ever had before the moment it got late. As soon as it was just Tomkin and Nanook with their fellow tribesmen, Hakoda began to talk. 

It was all Tomkin could do to clutch the autograph in his pocket and try not to cry. 

____ 

It was darker than Zuko would have liked, but they were here. Agni, they were here. The Western Air Temple. 

Of course, from the treeline, it looked like nothing more than a cliffdrop into a stomach-churningly deep ravine, but Zuko knew there were beautiful hanging pagodas and ancient rooms right beneath his feet. The Air Temples were the first places Zuko looked for the Avatar, and now he was back, and the Avatar was just a few metres of rock away from him. 

Oh Agni, the _Avatar_. 

Zuko had been so caught up in the terror of having to see the Water Tribe again that he hadn’t even given himself time to sort out his feelings upon seeing the Avatar. He hadn’t seen him since Pohuai. At least they’d ended on semi-good terms; maybe that would convince the Avatar to trust Zuko? 

“Zuko, your leg.” Zi Se said, tugging on Zuko’s tunic. Zuko met his worried amber stare and sighed. They were finally here, and the journey had finished Zuko. He was only still standing because he’d grabbed a tree branch hard enough that his nails dug into the bark, foot hovering in the air to avoid putting pressure on it. It was so hot. It was night-time, the moon balancing at the edge of the cliff, but it was boiling. 

“We’ll make a camp up here.” Zuko said, throat like sandpaper. “We’ll go down in the morning.” 

A good night’s sleep would at least give him the energy to face them, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that his leg was a big fucking problem. A problem that wasn’t going away. 

It could kill him. Zuko knew that, and a dark part of his mind kept whispering it, but he just... he didn’t know what to do, and... and... 

And he was scared. 

He was really scared. 

But he had to be fine. He wanted to be fine and he had to convince the tribesmen he was fine, because they were _good_ , and good people give into pity. He wouldn’t force them to let him stay out of charity alone. He had to stop bothering them. 

He was a messenger, nothing else. 

It was more than he deserved. 

Zuko and Zi Se sat around a small fire, the flames dancing before Zuko’s swimming vision, Zi Se’s weight pressed against his side the only thing grounding him. He had to be fine, he had to be fine, he had to be-. 

“I have something to give you.” Zi Se said softly, and Zuko blinked, regaining some focus as he managed a curious hum in response. The kid shuffled a little, reaching into his pocket, before pulling out a small, brown tile. 

It was Zuko’s white lotus tile. 

Zuko sucked in a breath, a shaking hand slowly lifting it from Zi Se’s palm and twirling it around his fingers like he’d done so many times. The pattern was barely there anymore, and the tile was spattered with dirt and blood, but it was _Zuko’s_. It was one thing that was so utterly, obnoxiously Zuko’s. It had been Zuko’s on the Erlong and on the Ullaakut and in Fong’s base and at the White Lotus camp and now at the Western Air Temple. It saw Lee’s death. It saw the Water Tribe’s gradual acceptance. It saw Oro and Renmin. It saw every torture. It saw Zi Se. 

It hadn’t seen Fong’s death. Zuko had done that alone. Completely alone. And somehow, that inconsistency was more comforting than anything. This was one thing of his that that bloody memory hadn’t touched. 

Zi Se was sucking his thumb when Zuko looked back up, something Zuko had caught him doing a lot today. 

“I have something to give you too.” Zuko said, making Zi Se smile apprehensively as he watched Zuko reach behind his neck, gently unclasping his necklace and passing it back to its true owner. It really was a beautiful necklace, with its dainty butterfly resting atop a plum blossom. Truly worthy of the noblewoman it must have belonged to, until Zi Se pinched it like the lovable little shit he was. 

Zi Se gasped when he saw his necklace, making grabby hands at it until Zuko obediently returned it to its rightful place around the kid’s neck. It had served its purpose now; it had brought them back together. 

And the first thing Zi Se did was put it in his mouth. 

“Zi Se.” Zuko said, exasperated. 

The kid looked at him innocently. “It’s almost out!” 

“What?” Zuko asked, completely lost and a little concerned. 

Zi Se finally gave up, letting his necklace fall and instead pointing at his mouth. “My tooth. It’s _really_ wobbly now and Akinari says it’s gonna fall out.” 

Zuko looked back at the fire. He wasn’t going to forget about that damn tooth anytime soon. It wasn’t Zi Se’s fault for bringing it up, but Zuko couldn’t help the way his mood plummeted, mind being dragged back into shadows as he remembered the base, that first week out, how paranoid and distant he’d been. It must have been so scary for Zi Se, seeing Zuko like that. 

Zuko settled on sighing loudly, turning back to the fire with a shake of his head. 

If Zuko really thought, he could feel a pain in his ribs. Not the obvious pain, the broken bones that jabbed with each inhale. A different pain. Between the last two ribs on his right side, a few centimetres long but aching with the pain of a millennia. And maybe it was the feeling of being a stranger walking the steps of a boy with his face and name who was here three years ago, maybe it was the infection that started in his leg and bled into his heart, maybe it was the shadows of the fire, dancing against the trees in a feverish orange. But Zuko felt it all the same. Felt the point of contact of his sword, felt the way sinew tore around the blade. Fong’s death had latched itself onto him, on that point of Zuko’s body that had been the final blow on Fong’s, and it was contaminating him. Black-rot ribs, curling flesh, boiling blood. Rage and pain and this pathetic hope to still do _some_ good. It all lived in Zuko like a disease, invisible and insatiable, but worst of all, slow. It was so slow. It took weeks for Zuko to see his own blazing anger, and it might take years before he figured out why he was so angry, and by then he’d find something else wrong, like cancer spreading through him. It was slow, and agonising. 

Zuko thought this must be what dying felt like, which was fitting. 

He had killed a man, and now, it was killing him back. 

Zuko didn’t notice his hand lifting, fingers trembling as they moved through the air, calling the fire to him. Zi Se sucked in a breath, but instead of moving from Zuko’s side where the fire was approaching, he pushed himself closer against Zuko. 

The kid was still scared of fire. Zuko was too, a little. He knew fire better than most people. He'd seen it at every angle. He'd seen it thrown from cruel hands and he’d seen it held in gentle fingers. He knew the kindness of fire just as he knew the terror of it. 

There was an art to burning, and Zuko was carefully mastering it. It was like the poets said. _Beauty is terror._

And oh, for how terrifying it was, fire was one of the most beautiful things in the world. 

“Look at this.” Zuko said quietly, before spreading his hands wide, a thin sheet of fire moving above their heads, covering the starry sky. Slowly, Zuko began to generate his own flames, and it became a dance of orange and blue, the two colours twirling together right above their heads, sending waves of warmth that saw Zuko’s cheeks flushing, but it was worth it for the wonderous sheen in Zi Se’s eyes as he stared in awe. Hues of red were starting to crackle through the dance, tumbling with the oranges, pirouetting with the blues. There was a familiarity to this that sent a shiver down Zuko’s spine; he knew where this came from, this bending, this idea, this image. It was an image living in the soft tissue of his memories, warm and happy. 

The Aurora. 

“It’s beautiful.” Zi Se breathed. 

“Yeah,” Zuko said, throat tight, arms heavy, “I know.” 

____ 

Kanut didn’t sleep that night. He sat by the campfire until it guttered into nothing but ash and pathetic embers. He felt like he was waiting, waiting for movement, or a sign, or _something_. Nothing came. Nothing ever came. But he couldn’t stop waiting for Zuko, he wouldn’t. All he had was a small chance, but it was enough. Enough that he still jumped hopefully when one of the campfire’s loose embers shot up, one that refused to extinguish, despite it all, sparking up towards the sky to curl amongst the stars. 

Zuko was still out there, and while he was still breathing, Kanut would wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe party rock is in the house tonight after all. Anyways feel free to drop me a comment or a bookmark or kudos or whatever, I actually really appreciate it even if I am too emotionally constipated to convey that in a normal way. I just realised that I never say stuff about kudos and shit and this is me trying to be an Actual Put Together Fic Author. Is it working???? Hello??? 
> 
> The quote ’beauty is terror’ is by donna tartt and let me tell you for a bitch who hasn’t even read the secret history I sure do quote it every chance I get. 
> 
> I can’t believe it but finally, finally, after literal torture and a sprinkling of murder and a tsunami of angst, we’re getting the zuko & swt reunion. Next chapter your majesties. remember, you can [check my tumblr](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/) for info on chapter updates xx


	32. ii. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg hello again this no-update-schedule thing has been SO much better and i actually think it shows in the chapter?? like none of it was rushed at all so i feel a lot better about it. i have some beautiful [tovah fanart](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/737464507730930156/) to show you on pinterest and as always all art on tumblr is under the [taob art tag](https://www.tumblr.com/search/taob+art). there's also been a gift fic written that discusses zuko's blue fire in a really interesting way [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694036), go check it out!
> 
> well hellions and himbos how are we on this lovely sunday. i'm back at college now (still online though) which is just fantastic i really recommend it :))))) especially when i keep prioritising writing fic over my actual assignments :))) like sorry ma'am fiscal policy can wait zuko's at the western air temple you doNT UNDERSTAND-
> 
> anyways hope you like this one nerds, see you in a jiffy and in the meantime don't do anything i wouldn't do xx **(oh, and i have some very exciting news in the end notes for you all ;)))**

So, here’s the thing. No one ever taught Tomkin how to hold the last flying lemur of its entire species, and Tomkin had grown up hunting and wrangling the tough animals of the South Pole. How was he supposed to know Momo was that temperamental? How was he supposed to know that Momo had been spoilt and babied for the past few months by Aang and Katara, and was now accustomed to no less than royal treatment? 

How was he supposed to know that a flying-lemur was able to hold a grudge this long? 

“Momo,” Tomkin groaned into his sleeping bag, “get _off._ ” 

It was almost dawn, the sky still an inky black outside the temple aside a slither of orange on the horizon, the fire guttered to grey ashes as everyone slept around it, warm and crowded in a way that made Tomkin smile as he slept. He wasn’t smiling now, because now, he had Momo grabbing handfuls of his hair and _yanking_. 

“Told you he hates you.” Nanook mumbled from somewhere to Tomkin’s left, still half-asleep, because _Nanook_ wasn’t being attacked by a lemur. 

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Chena groaned from the other side of the campfire, rolling so his back was to Tomkin and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _‘Spirits, to think I missed them’._

“Language.” A groggy voice said, coming from the bundle of furs Aput had wrapped himself in. 

Toph, who Tomkin had thought was fast asleep, punched the ground, causing an earth pillar to shoot into Aput’s side. 

“OW!” He snapped, sitting upright, black hair sticking at every angle. “What the shit was that?!” 

“Language.” Toph said delicately, snuggling deeper into her sleeping bag with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Can we all go back to sleep please?” Katara asked, aiming for diplomatic as she berated warriors three times her age. “The sun hasn’t even finished rising yet.” 

Bato hummed in agreement. “Petition for us to throw the next person who disrupts my beauty sleep off the cliff, all those in favour say ‘aye’.” 

Several grumbled _‘aye’s_ sounded from around the camp, causing blissful silence for a few seconds as everyone finally settled back down. Tomkin couldn’t help himself. He was already awake, and his heart was beating a little too fast at just how... _normal_ this was. This was how they _were_. The warriors, like this. Every morning on the Ullaakut was met with this same moody banter, half-asleep quips and sleepy smiles. 

He couldn’t help but milk it. 

“How’s that beauty sleep helping the number Chena did on your nose, Bato?” He asked with an innocent smile that quickly became an evil grin at Bato’s squawk of offence at Tomkin’s implication. 

“That’s it,” Chena said, “throw Tomkin off the cliff.” 

“Wait,” Sokka said, lifting his face from where he’d previously wrapped it in his pillow to try and tune them all out, “Chena hit Bato?” 

“He got jealous because I’m handsome and he is an ugly, unlovable beast.” Bato said moodily, and Tulok buried his face in his hands, knowing any chance of sleep had just died a petty death. 

“If you two start fighting right now-.” Aput tried, before immediately being cut off by Chena. 

“Listen here you egotistical fuck-.” 

A long, loud groan sounded from Hakoda’s bedroll, and the Chief finally sat up, rubbing his temples as he gave up on any prospect of further rest. 

“Alright, everyone up.” Hakoda ordered, sternness lost a little to the dregs of sleep still clinging to him. The Chief was exhausted, and he had every right to be after what he’d been through these past few weeks, but it seemed deeper than a physical tiredness. His eyes were a little distant, his smile always a second too late, forced. _Haunted_ , Nanook had whispered, when him and Tomkin were the last two still awake after hearing about Zuko, _he looks haunted, just like after Kya died._

It was natural to be angry at Hakoda after he told them what happened. After he told them that Zuko was almost unrecognisable, after he told them that despite everything, his first words to Hakoda in four months were words of reconciliation, as if they weren’t the ones who had to abandon him in Gaoling. It was natural to be angry at Hakoda after he told them about Fong, and how it happened, and how they left Zuko in that library alone with no one but blood and ash and a family who showed no sign of compassion. 

It was natural to be angry, because that was the easy route. It was so very easy for Tomkin to imagine what he would have done in that situation, so easy to picture it all and be calm enough to know better, to realise that Zuko had made his decision, that Zuko internalised things, that the only logical explanation, with that in mind, was just to _let Zuko do what he needed to do_. No one could possibly hate him for killing a man, least of all Hakoda. Hakoda was the Chief, and he was familiar with the throes of war. He'd killed, and he’d had his tribe to fall back on, knowing hatred for his actions wouldn’t even cross their minds. They were warriors. They did what they had to do. Tomkin knew Chena’s motto. _Killing Fire Nation soldiers saves lives, in the long run_. That rule applied to a man like Fong. General Fong, who took a teenager and tore him to pieces, whose crimes were unspeakable based only on the small amount of information they’d gathered. Whether Zuko killed him in cold blood or killed him for the greater good was irrelevant, and everyone who’d spent more than a few months out in this war knew that better than they cared to admit. 

It was easy, then, to be angry that Hakoda and Kanut hadn’t done enough to show Zuko that. 

But Tomkin wasn’t angry, because he’d realised something in his time taking care of these kids. In his own eyes, he was just a kid himself, so used to being the baby of the group, _Little Tom_ , but to Haru and Teo and The Duke, to even Aang, Toph and Katara, Tomkin and Nanook were adults, omnipotent and undefeatable. Adults, who were turned to in times of trouble. Adults, who were expected to know exactly what to do at any given moment. 

For years, Tomkin had seen the Chief as some sort of idol, but Hakoda was just a man, and Tomkin couldn’t be angry with him. If Tomkin had been in that library that day, he wouldn’t have known how to help Zuko either. 

Sometimes, all you can do for someone is _care_. 

Sometimes, that isn’t enough. 

“Chena, Bato,” Hakoda was saying, pulling back his hair as he got to his feet, “seeing as you two are _clearly_ so spritely this morning, you can go and fetch some water for us to make breakfast. Everyone else ask Sokka what needs doing.” 

Sokka, never an early riser, had sat up with his sleeping bag still wrapped around his head, hair down and messy, eyes slowly falling shut as his body pulled him back to sleep, but upon Hakoda’s words, he snapped to attention, staring at his dad in disbelief. 

Sokka had been there when Hakoda and Kanut saw Zuko, and he was taking it as well as he could, given the fact he still hadn’t had any answers. Tomkin wasn’t looking forward to the fallout of _that_ conversation, but for now, the Chief and Sokka had had this horrid tension between them. 

This acknowledgement here though, the drawn-out silence as the rest of the camp obliviously chatted and bickered, was an offer of peace. It was a tiny thing. Hakoda was making the warriors ask Sokka how to do things around here, and it made sense, because this place, these kids, weren’t Hakoda’s territory. Even Tomkin and Nanook had felt it, before Sokka disappeared on his ‘fishing trip’. They had taken a leadership role that wasn’t being offered. Whether it was in Sokka’s best interests was irrelevant; he still felt he was being sidelined. Maybe that’s why he did what he did, going to the Boiling Rock alone. To _prove himself_. 

Hakoda was playing a smart game here, and Tomkin was reminded that both father and son were excellent tacticians. 

This could get messy. 

Sokka hesitated, before taking what his dad was giving him with a tight smile. 

“Tomkin, Nanook, you guys can feed Appa.” Sokka said, smile becoming an evil grin as Tomkin gasped. 

“But that’s Aang’s job!” Tomkin cried, affronted. 

“Remember when I said I'd rebel against your corrupt leadership?” Sokka said innocently. “This is it.” 

“Chief, this is mutiny.” Nanook said, because while feeding Appa wasn’t bad, the chores surrounding the air bison and threats along the lines of _‘while you’re there, you should brush him’_ were. 

“It’s out of my hands, boys.” Hakoda pointedly held his hands up, shrugging. 

“Appa’s not so bad!” Aang insisted, the picture of sweetness as he threw a chirpy ‘good morning, buddy!’ to the unable-to-respond bison in question, before airbending elegantly to his feet and skipping off to where Katara was unpacking breakfast utensils from their supplies. And that was the last straw. Tomkin had no choice. If the people he trusted were going to betray him like this, then he would just have to fight dirty. 

“Is it because I'm an orphan?” 

Chena, Bato and Aput groaned loudly, used to this being Tomkin’s last weapon in his arsenal when he really, _really_ didn’t want to do something. It had been years since those three caved into his pouting and soft tone, and Kanut had never had enough pity in his spiteful body to buy into it, but without fail, it always made Hakoda twitchy, and Tulok and Nanook were _suckers_ for it. 

“Did you...” Sokka started, staring at Tomkin in a mix of disbelief and respect. “Did you just play the orphan card?” 

“You bet I did, baby.” Tomkin grinned, jumping to his feet and raising his hands above his head, spine cracking as he stretched. “I don’t play it enough.” 

Sokka scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger. “Stop capitalising on your trauma.” 

“Or what?” Tomkin said, before turning smugly to Nanook, catching him in the act of a very melodramatic eyeroll. “Have fun with Appa.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Nanook said, 

“Just go help with breakfast or something.” Hakoda said, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was his classic ‘my kids will be the death of me’ expression and Tomkin always felt a bolt of joy strike him whenever it was aimed his way. 

Nanook stomped off, shoving Tomkin as he passed, and the other warriors quickly settled into their morning chores. It would take a few days for them to figure out how to live with each other, but they’d get the hang of it sooner or later. Tomkin and Nanook had, after all, and now, living around Sokka and Katara and the others felt as natural as living around the warriors. 

Tomkin turned to where Katara was still stood with the supplies, Aang bouncing excitably around her – Spirits, how did that kid have so much _energy_ in the mornings? - but despite that, she seemed unhappy, frowning a little at the prospect of people helping her with breakfast. Tomkin wasn’t worried though, instead rubbing his face to hide his smile. Katara was the best cook here, but her making the meals for everyone went further than that. She liked taking care of people. She liked making sure everyone ate well, making sure everyone was warm and their clothes were patched up whenever they were torn. There was a maternal streak in Katara’s heart, and it only grew when Kya died and Katara had to step up more. It seemed the years the warriors were away only made that streak grow. 

It made her a little territorial of her cooking, and she wouldn’t want Aput’s big hands or Kanut’s bad attitude or Tomkin’s general clumsiness encroaching on that. 

The thought of her snapping at them made Tomkin struggle to muffle a laugh, and his heart did that strange racing flutter from before, because there was something normal about this too. Tomkin knew how to live with these two groups of people, but never together. Yet they flowed together seamlessly, any transgressions being smoothed over with fondness, and every surge of bickering, every impatient comment, had such an undertone of domesticity that he couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

It just felt right, to have all the people Tomkin cared about right here where he could see them and know they were safe. 

Well, almost all of them. 

____ 

Zuko fell asleep quickly that night, too exhausted by his injuries to claw awake from the nightmares that followed. When he woke up, a cold sweat clung to him, and he couldn’t remember what he dreamt of but it hung heavily over him, the knowledge that something had just been living in his mind, fleeing with lucidity. He knew what it would have been. It was always the same. 

Zi Se’s weight, pressed into his side as the kid curled closer and closer to him in his sleep, burying his face into Zuko's chest, had startled him at first. He’d gone four months like this, waking up from sporadic sleep to Zi Se holding onto him - it was why he could handle Zi Se touching him when everyone else made his stomach knot - but it had been days since Zuko had woken up next to someone. He remembered what happened with Mai, the poorly hidden shock in her eyes, the fear as he grabbed her wrist. If he hadn’t snapped out of it quicker, he might have twisted his grip. He could still hear the way Akinari’s arm had broken. He'd tried to touch him too. 

Something about the Water Tribe muffled it. Zuko had still stiffened in Hakoda’s arms, and he’d been hyperaware every time Sokka touched him, but it was... bearable. Bearable because there was no green or red, only blue. And some stupid part of his mind, convoluted and drowning after so long, had latched onto the blue in his memories and called it safety. 

Zuko sighed, shifting to wrap an arm around Zi Se and hold the sleeping kid closer, looking up at the stars through the branches above. Agni was about to rise, the night-sky rinsed out a little, but still visible. The stars here were almost like they were at home. The Western Air Temple was dangerously close to Fire Nation waters, and the constellations were only slightly skewed. Zuko remembered the southern sky, the relentless night that had doused his chi. The stars in the South Pole made these ones look dim. 

And that’s how Zuko sat, unmoving, reluctant to get up. It was easier to stare at the sky, watching it melt into drops of sunlight that washed over the morning as he carded his fingers softly through Zi Se’s hair, than it was to think about what today heralded. There was no more avoiding it. He'd wasted enough time. He was getting better and better at compartmentalising his thoughts, and if he could just focus on Sozin’s Comet, on the threat of genocide hanging over the Earth Kingdom, on the war and the political aspect of all this, then it would be fine. It didn’t have to be so _raw_. 

But he couldn’t, because every time he went over what he might say when he saw the warriors again, he remembered the library, and he saw Hakoda’s blue eyes, heard Kanut’s offer of redemption. He turned it down. He sent them away. He chose badness, and they couldn’t just _forget_ that. 

Zuko remembered his last words to Hakoda – _there’s a reason they call us ashmakers. I don’t belong with you, I never did_ – and groaned, wincing. Who _said_ shit like that? And part of him knew that he wasn’t thinking straight in that library, that the smoke was curling his thoughts, that he was just so _angry_ , so hurt, so scared, that it blindsided him. It had all been... too much... far, far too much, in the moment. Choosing to kill Fong, to leave the Water Tribe, to return to Father, had seen Zuko jump into the pitch ravine of his mind. But this here, him coming to the Water Tribe to warn them, him taking Zi Se and hoping for a fresh start for them both, this wasn’t him climbing out of that dark chasm. That would be the pretty way of putting things, the way things would go in a storybook or a play. The character would fall down, and then they would get back up. But this was no play, it never had been, and Zuko wasn’t scaling this ravine, scrambling over the ledge to stand again in Agni’s light. No. He was simply taking a few steps, perhaps lighting a torch, stocking up on supplies for the long, long journey of shadows ahead. 

After all, it was easier to fall from a cliff than to climb one. 

“Zuko?” Zi Se mumbled, groggy as he began to stir, even such a slight movement sending stinging pains through Zuko’s ribs. At least his leg felt better after some sleep. Actually, he couldn’t really... feel it. The pain had turned almost static, a fog hovering beneath his skin from the knee down. Zuko didn’t want to think too long on what _that_ could mean. 

“Zuko?” Zi Se said again, more urgent this time, pushing himself into a hurried sitting position and completely missing the way Zuko grit his teeth. 

“What? What is it?” Zuko bit out, before softening at the sight of Zi Se’s messy black hair. 

Zi Se was frowning, a little pained, as he worked his jaw, before his eyes widened in surprise. 

“Look!” He gasped, ducking his head while Zuko watched on, confused. Zi Se finally looked up again, grinning victoriously as he held out his hand, and there in his palm was a tooth. “I told you!” 

Zuko stared at it, remembering years of babyteeth and Mother, remembering comforting a six-year-old Azula because her tooth fell out and she was convinced it meant she was _dying_. 

It was a staple of childhood. It wasn’t a big deal. But Zi Se, whether he knew it or not, wasn’t getting the normal experience. It was a bad tooth, rotten in his palm, and it had hurt him while it was still inside him, and Zuko hadn’t been able to help, hadn’t been able to prevent it, hadn’t even noticed. It was a product of Fong, and it was rotting from within, and it wasn’t something Zuko could control. 

But it was... it was _out_. It had fallen out, this last piece of Fong. They could leave it behind now. They could leave it all behind, for good. 

A choked laugh escaped Zuko’s lips. “That’s great, Zi Se. That's really, really great.” 

“What do I do with it?” Zi Se said, making weird expressions as he got used to the sudden gap. 

“Well, usually you’d put it beneath your floorboards, but we can bury it, if you want?” Zuko said with a nostalgic smile. It wasn’t for a prince to entertain such basic things, but Mother had always let Zuko indulge in the more fun traditions, whether Father saw them as childish or not. 

Zi Se laughed. “Why would we do that?” 

“It’s from your top row of teeth, yeah?” Zuko said, grinning when Zi Se nodded and bared his teeth to prove a point. “So if we bury it, it pulls your new tooth to your old tooth. Makes it grow quicker and stronger.” 

Zi Se considered it, disbelieving, before giving in. “Okay!” He beamed, jumping to his feet. 

And so that’s what they did. Zuko let Zi Se do most of it, the kid bouncing about the place in his excitement as he found a nice spot and started digging with his hands, pressing the tooth snugly amongst the dirt. And then they buried it, and Zuko packed the earth tight, watching it disappear from view. When they were done, he took a step back, and he felt... light. 

This rotting part of their history had been cut out of them, and it would be buried here, above the Western Air Temple. And no matter where they went now, what they chose to do, what happened today, it would still be here, and they would still be free of it. It couldn’t follow them around anymore. It couldn’t haunt them. 

They were moving on. Zuko had faced his father, had left the Fire Nation, and still, it was this of all things that showed it him. They were moving on. 

Things could be better. If not now, then soon. 

They just needed to keep taking it one step at a time. 

That lightness didn’t last. Breakfast was a quiet, stilted affair, seeing them both eat too quickly, a habit neither of them seemed to have broken in their time apart, and that silence gave Zuko too much time in his own head. 

Because yes, they were moving on, and things were better than they were when Zuko was in Caldera, or the Boiling Rock, but things were far from perfect. The day was becoming hot again, sweat clinging to Zuko’s skin as he struggled to take full breaths, and Agni, _what the fuck was he going to say?_

It wasn’t just Hakoda down there. It was all of them. Kanut, Chena, Tulok, Aput, Tomkin, Nanook. All of them, each with a different response that he would have to cater to, each who deserved their own explanation. And then there was the Avatar’s group. Sokka, who Zuko had thought was hateful when he looked at him last, but now he remembered the way it looked a little like he was hiding the fact he was scared. _I thought you’d changed_. And Sokka’s sister, Katara. Zuko had stolen her _necklace_ that one time. And of course there was the whole ‘hunted you down for weeks on end’ thing that still hadn’t been resolved. Suki was there too. Zuko had sworn to her that Azula’s presence in the Boiling Rock hadn’t been a set up, and then Zuko had immediately ran back to Azula. How bad did _that_ look? And the Avatar would surely have gotten an earthbending teacher by now, too. It was all adding up to make a large group of people who didn’t want Zuko there, and he needed to make them listen long enough to tell them about the Earth Kingdom, but how was he supposed to do that? How could he possibly say his piece when he wouldn’t even give _himself_ the time of day right now? 

“Zi Se,” Zuko said, sitting on a nearby rock and leaning his forearms on his knees, letting his head dip, “why don’t you go practise with that dagger? There's a clearing over there, but don’t go near the cliff.” 

“Cool!” Zi Se beamed, oblivious to how weak Zuko’s voice sounded. “What about you?” 

Zuko shook his head, thoughts swimming just a moment slower than his movements. “I’ll be right here. Off you go.” 

Zi Se wasn’t too happy with that, hesitating as he fiddled with the dagger he’d now pulled out, but his eagerness to practise overwhelmed that, and he skipped off, promising to be within shouting distance. Zi Se’s attachment to Zuko and his infallible trust that he wouldn’t leave again made for a strange combination, but right now, it was one Zuko desperately needed. He just needed to be alone, just for a bit, just until he figured out what he was going to do. _They'll hate you_ , said a voice from the shadows of the ravine, and his stomach twisted with a sudden fear of heights. _They don’t want to see you again. None of them do_. It was easier to stay grounded, to not take the risk of falling. Zuko felt dizzy, lethargic almost, like everything was happening to him at a slower pace than the truth. The air was muggy, thick, and Zuko’s ribs were too tight, like there was too much of him and it was spilling over the bone. He couldn’t breathe, the thoughts shooting through his head with the same speed, the same _pain_ , as lightning. 

No. Zuko sucked in a deep breath, ignoring how it hurt, and lifted his head. No, he wasn’t changing his mind. Him and Zi Se... they were moving on. _This_ was how they moved on. 

Which brought him right back to the start, because he was going to do this, he was going to face them all, so what the fuck did he say? 

He wasn’t losing his mind. He knew for certain he wasn’t, because Zuko had spent four months so far beneath the earth’s surface that he started seeing memories in the shadows, and _that_ had made him question his sanity. In comparison, this was nothing. 

This was just him, alone, injured, possibly delirious, going through lines out loud in order to get a feel for them, to see how they sounded. 

And if he happened to be talking to the badgerfrog perched on a nearby boulder, almost like he was using the animal as an impromptu audience, then nobody had to know. 

“Hello,” Zuko said, pressing the pads of his fingers together as he glared at the badgerfrog, concentrating, “Zuko here... No, absolutely not. They _know_ who you are, dumbass... Uh...” He mussed his hair, desperately trying to untangle his mind even just a little bit so he could access the part that controlled _normal fucking conversation_ and pointedly ignoring how clammy and tight his skin felt. He didn’t have time to be unwell. 

“So.” Zuko tried again. The badgerfrog blinked. “The thing is, I know some things about the war. Specifically, I know about a Fire Nation attack coming, because I'm... Well, I know because I did go back there... for a bit... but I'm not with them anymore! And I'm not hunting the Avatar anymore either. I should apologise for that...” 

Agni, this was going to be bad. 

“And I know... a lot of you haven’t seen me in a while... and I did k-.” Zuko’s mouth dried up, a sudden wave of pain throbbing from his leg as the words turned to dust on his tongue. He grit his teeth, glaring daggers at the badgerfrog. “I did a terrible thing, and I'm pretty sure that makes me terrible, but I'm... For what it’s worth, for how little it means, I'm on your side.” 

Zuko stood a little taller, satisfied with the conclusion despite the clumsy delivery, before deflating again when he only got a bored _ribbit_ in response. He was still on his own, talking to a badgerfrog. He still had to say all this to the others. Agni, he had to look Hakoda in the eye and say all that. 

Zuko felt sick. He just wanted to lie down, but lying down meant sleeping, and sleeping meant nightmares. Every crevice of his life was tainted by spatter marks, residual bloodstains, and he couldn’t clean them away. 

“Zi Se!” Zuko finally called, rubbing a hand down his face and letting his head loll back to glare at the blue sky above him. It relaxed him, looking at the sky. He'd gone without it for four months. At one point, he was convinced he’d never see it again. But now, not even the fresh air, the open sky, the trees around him, the little gap-toothed boy, was enough to lift his spirits. 

“Coming!” Zi Se replied, not too far away, a smile clear in his voice. 

Zuko just needed to get this over with. 

____ 

It was weird having Team Avatar integrating with the Southern Water Tribe warriors. Good weird, obviously. Very good weird. Definitely good weird, but still... weird. Sokka didn’t know what to do with himself, and he was running out of excuses. 

Because yeah, he had been angry at his dad, and he had been _rightfully_ angry, but after that talk on the ship, there wasn’t much else Sokka could say. Hakoda had fucked up, and he’d admitted that, and he wanted to fix things. There was literally no more Sokka could ask for until they had this big talk they’d both been tiptoeing around. Until then, they were stuck in this weird in-between. _Bad_ weird. Sokka couldn’t really sulk, but he wasn’t entirely willing to act like things were normal either. 

And now, there were all these new people. The Western Air Temple had been split into four groups. Chit Sang’s lot tended to keep to themselves, happy to stick to their group of three while still exchanging polite small talk whenever they had to interact with the others. Then there were the babies of the group; Teo, Haru and The Duke. The Duke was the youngest here at eight, but aside that, there wasn’t anything that technically made the three of them the ‘babies’. Teo and Haru were both older than Toph and Aang – kinda – but still, the three stayed out of the important discussions. It was more their choice than anyone else’s. They seemed to have made a silent agreement to just leave things to everyone else while they spent their days exploring the temple. That was fine by Sokka. They were just children; they should be allowed that choice. He wished it had been available for all of them, but it wasn’t. 

The last two groups populating the archaic temple were Team Avatar and the eight warriors. 

It was always going to be weird at first, Sokka knew that. Logically, they were taking all these people who did things differently, shoving them together and hoping for the best. No one really knew what the protocol was. When it was just Team Avatar, Sokka took up most of the mantle of leader. He was the eldest, and a warrior, and the others were impulsive to say the least, so of course it went to him. But even so, it’s not like he was a _Chief_ , or anything. If Katara wanted something, Aang would side with her, and they usually wound up doing it. If Aang didn’t want something, he got stubborn and sulky. If Toph wanted something, then there wasn’t a Spirit on earth that could stop her from getting it. It was a strange system, but Sokka figured out how to make it work, and it did. They were good together, all of them. 

The adults did things differently, because Hakoda _was_ a Chief. His word was always the one taken. He was a good man, he listened and he took council from his men, but at the end of the day, if he came to a decision the others didn’t like, they would still, ultimately, follow his leadership. And that made sense, because living on a ship out in a warzone was dangerous, and that kind of danger didn’t have time for petty arguments and personal grudges. It needed a firm word, a strong hand, and a single man they were all willing to follow. 

Tui, even thinking of it like that made Sokka’s heart swell. He forgot just how cool Hakoda was sometimes, but this tension between them at the moment wasn’t enough to get rid of a lifetime of Sokka idolising his father. He wanted to be like Hakoda, one day. 

But that day was not today, which meant no one had any idea who to listen to, and Hakoda’s attempts to ease things by giving Sokka authority had somehow made everything feel even more confusing. 

It was just... weird. Really, really weird. 

Luckily, Sokka was nothing if not an entertainer, a master of distracting both himself and his friends from their troublesome thoughts. 

“Alright, Aang,” Sokka was saying, flexing his hands where they were clamped on Aang’s shoulders, “there’s the fire, go.” 

“I can’t just _bend the fire_ , Sokka.” Aang hissed, fidgeting in Sokka’s grip. The only reason he hadn’t shrugged Sokka off was because Sokka had grabbed Aang under the pretence of being supportive; he knew Aang would feel too bad to push him away. Truth was, Aang was the definition of flighty, and he was refusing to even discuss what was happening with his firebending training. If Sokka had to resort to subtly restraining the guy in order to avoid a repeat of Roku’s Island, then that’s exactly what he’d do. He was a good friend like that. 

“Sure you can!” Sokka grinned, meeting Katara’s gaze behind Aang’s back and jerking his chin, a clear message to his sister; _help me out_. 

“You’re the Avatar.” Katara chirped, quickly taking Sokka’s hint. “You can do this. It's gotta be in there somewhere.” 

The three of them had gathered around the campfire with Toph and Suki, but the longer they were here, staring at a fire and looking generally like they were up to something, the more attention they attracted. After a while, the warriors started to sit with them, intrigued. Sokka had to admit, it was nice having so many non-benders around. 

“We could always just throw fire at you.” Toph said with an evil smile. “I’m sure you’d be able to firebend then.” 

“No, absolutely not.” Nanook said with the expression of a man who thinks those around him are only _partially_ joking. 

“Just go from what you said that Jeong Jeong guy taught you.” Suki supplied helpfully. 

Aang groaned. “He just told me about breathing. I _know_ about breathing. I do it all the time.” 

“Breathing is important for firebending though, right? To help settle chi?” Kanut asked casually, before turning rigid when everyone’s eyes snapped to him. 

“Is that so?” Chena asked, a wolfish grin on his lips, grey eyes a little soft. 

“Shut up.” Kanut huffed. “I’m gonna go look around the temple. I want to set up one of the rooms as an infirmary while we’re here. It doesn’t look like we’ll be moving anytime soon and I don’t trust you lot to not get yourselves hurt.” He flicked an accusatory finger between Chena, Bato and Aput before skulking off. He'd mentioned about finding a room to use as an infirmary over breakfast, saying it would be a better clinical environment with walls and a solid floor, but this looked more like he was running away from the conversation. 

“Huh, I wonder how Kanut knows so much about firebending.” Aang said, happy the focus had been turned from him. 

“Yeah,” Sokka mumbled, glaring at the fire, “I wonder.” 

It was like a stone had lodged itself in his chest, choking him and weighing him down, and through it all, he felt Hakoda’s burning stare. Sokka had decided to keep his mouth shut until Hakoda explained; he owed his dad that much. He held off on telling the others, even keeping it from Katara when she’d been the first he wanted to tell about Zuko, and Suki had left the decision up to him, staying quiet. At breakfast, Hakoda had asked if Sokka was ready to talk, and Sokka stupidly said they’d talk when they ate next. It gave everyone a while to settle down and get ready for the day, while still giving them the buffer of food to at least attempt at casualness. He was stalling, and he didn't even know why. His curiosity smouldered within him, the weight of that stone, but the answers he craved were also ones he was terrified of, because he genuinely had no idea what to expect. He had no hunches, no vague ideas. There was no logical explanation for how Zuko came to know Hakoda and the others, how he came to befriend them. This unknown, this disorder, this freefalling without a plan - it was a cocktail of Sokka’s biggest anxieties. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Katara said, and Sokka was snapped from his thoughts, glaring at his sister who glared right back at him. The others had slipped easily back into conversation around him, and Sokka realised he must have been seriously lost in his head, so much so that his hands were still on Aang’s shoulders, and Aang, being Aang, hadn’t said anything, grinning away as he chatted to Bato. 

“I’m never an idiot.” Sokka said, feigning a wounded expression as he subtly released the Avatar. 

“No, you’re never _stupid_.” Katara corrected, pushing her hair over her shoulder. “But every now and then, you’re such a colossal idiot that it makes me want to bash my head against a wall.” 

“Well that makes loads of sense. Thank you, master Katara, for your wisdom.” Sokka said with a put-upon sigh. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for them to speak to each other like this. He loved Katara, but she was also his sister, and sometimes he’d look at her when she was doing _literally_ nothing wrong and just be filled with the urge to throw something at her. But now, there was a strange depth in her blue eyes, like she was staring into his soul, like she _knew something_. 

“You’re acting weird, Sokka.” Katara said, and Sokka felt his hands go clammy, the full force of his sister’s attention weighing him down. 

“Ever since you got back, you’ve been acting weird. Did you and Dad have a fight?” She asked, and Spirits, she was _worried_ , because that didn’t twist Sokka up inside at all. The last thing he wanted was to drag Katara into this sooner than he had to. 

But being directly asked, being offered a chance to rant and let it all pour out of him, being prompted to get it off his chest, it was too tempting. Sokka wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to ask if she remembered that phase Aang went through, after Sokka and Katara got sick and they had to suck on those horrible frogs, when he would incessantly wonder if there was a chance they ever could be friends with Zuko. Sokka wanted to ask if she remembered how they’d turned him down, how Katara had snapped at the prospect, how Sokka just laughed, because it was laughable, at the time. But for a while there, in the Boiling Rock, it hadn’t seemed too laughable. For a while, him and Zuko understood each other, and they’d worked together, and Sokka had thought that, if things were different, he could see the two of them being friends. 

And then Zuko chose the Fire Nation - their ways, their side – and Sokka felt so much about it that it was hard to pin it all down, but beneath the anger, the shock, the recurring images of a man bleeding out on the floor, was one thought Sokka couldn’t explain to anyone. 

It was just that he felt like such a _fool_. The one time he’d left on his own with his own mission, the one time something came down to him and him alone, not the Avatar or his prodigy sister or the inventor of metalbending, that one time, he let it all go to his head. _If you trust him, so do I. Just say the words_. Suki. Someone who didn’t trust easily but who trusted Sokka in that moment. And he’d taken a chance with Zuko. He'd taken a chance, and Zuko made a fool of him. 

_Should have known better_ , he thought to himself with a sneer. Yeah, that was the one thing him and Zuko could agree on. 

“I’m gonna go hunting for a bit.” Sokka said, shaking his head and moving before Katara, whose expression seemed to have surpassed concern now, could stop him. 

“Sokka-!” 

“I’ll be right back.” Sokka called, before throwing a half-hearted grin over his shoulder. “Go practise your water magic.” 

He couldn’t be here. He just needed a moment to breathe, alone. Somewhere he wouldn’t jeopardise the fragile precipice his family relationships were currently balancing on by opening his big mouth. 

And that was how Sokka found himself on the plateau above the temple, staring at the treeline of the nearby forest. It wasn’t a particularly exciting treeline, and definitely didn’t warrant the level of staring that Sokka was giving it, but in his defence, he really hadn’t been expecting to come up here and be met with a child swinging a dagger around. 

“Um... Hello.” Sokka said, and the kid jumped, sloppily turning to Sokka and pointing the dagger with a shaking hand. He was young, no older than five, wearing black clothes that looked just slightly too big for him, messy black hair falling into his eyes. 

“Who’re you?” The kid asked, trying for tough but losing it a bit to the high pitch of his young voice. Sokka raised his hands placatingly, taking a few tentative steps forward. There was a _child_ near a _cliff_. There was a _child_ near a _cliff_ with a _dagger_. 

_Why was there a child near a cliff with a dagger?_

“I’m Sokka.” He said, allowing a friendly smile as he managed another step closer. “And you are?” 

Sokka was good with kids, he knew he was. He liked them, they were hilarious by complete accident and they tended to appreciate him a lot more than the others ever did, and besides, back home, Sokka had taken care of a lot of the younger boys, raising them to be the tribe’s future warriors. He learnt how to talk to kids, how to calm them down, and he also learnt how to make them laugh. 

“It’s not an embarrassing name, is it?” Sokka asked when the kid went quiet, clearly debating whether or not to give Sokka his name. Sokka stopped in front of him, crouching so that they were eye-level. _Spirits_ , he thought, _I better not die because this kid accidentally stabs me._

“Hmm,” Sokka placed a finger to his chin melodramatically, earning an amused smile from the kid, “embarrassing names... I bet I can think of one for you. I'm great at coming up with names.” 

“Zi Se.” The kid mumbled, lowering the dagger shyly. 

“What was that?” Sokka asked, trying not to smile too proudly at the kid’s cooperation. 

“It’s Zi Se.” The kid, Zi Se, said, and Sokka nodded, as if contemplating the name. 

“Zi Se,” he repeated, “ _is that_ embarrassing where you’re from?” 

Zi Se laughed brightly, nose crinkling as he shook his head. 

“Well, in that case.” Sokka thrust forward his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zi Se.” 

Zi Se stared at Sokka’s hand, frowning, and it was then Sokka noticed his eyes. A burning amber, lively and inquisitive like a bird’s. Fire Nation. 

What was a Fire Nation child doing at the Western Air Temple? 

“Here, grab my elbow and then shake. Water Tribe style.” Sokka said gently, grinning when the kid’s small hand grasped his arm, the casual greeting seeming fascinating to him. 

“How old are you, Zi Se?” Sokka asked, trying to be subtle as he looked him over. That dagger was Earth Kingdom, and thankfully, it was pretty blunt. It wouldn’t do Sokka or the kid any damage anytime soon. 

“Nearly six.” Zi Se said happily, and Sokka saw a gap in his teeth when he smiled. Sokka knew Fire Nationers weren’t born evil, but it was still jarring to see, looking into their eyes and knowing this kid was going to grow up in one of two worlds. The first, this one around them, full of the Fire Nation’s tyranny and bloodshed. The second, the world where Aang defeated Ozai and the group of people currently below Sokka’s feet ended the Hundred Year War. 

Sokka was just about to ask Zi Se what he was doing out here alone when someone suddenly called the kid’s name. 

“Coming!” Zi Se shouted back immediately, a strange urgent fondness in his tone, but Sokka was rooted to the spot, still crouching, staring at the kid in disbelief. 

Usually, he’d say he’d misheard, he’d say his thoughts were making him hear things, but that voice was distinctive. Sokka had never met anyone who sounded like Zuko, with that low, chilling rasp that seemed so incomprehensible at times and so vulnerable at others. He was unmissable, in that sense. 

Sokka stared at Zi Se, eyes wide as the kid turned a friendly smile back to him. 

“It was nice meeting you, Sokka!” He said, and Sokka was back in a storage cupboard, hearing the words _‘he insists that ‘nearly six’ doesn’t count as five’._ This was the kid Zuko was talking about, and they were at the Western Air Temple. _He’s real quiet, but he looks at you, and you just know he’s smart._

Zi Se ducked back into the treeline, scrambling through the undergrowth and quickly disappearing from view, and Sokka was utterly immobilised. 

Zuko was here. 

Zuko was _here_. 

Sokka worked his jaw, unsheathing Boomerang and flexing his fingers, getting a good grip before he stalked into the forest and quickly followed Zi Se. 

Zi Se didn’t exactly make it difficult, snapping every twig in sight as he careened through the bushes, breaking into a clearing. Sokka hid himself in the shadows of the trees, and from there he watched. Watched as Zuko turned to Zi Se, expression softening as the kid ran to him, watched as Zuko mussed the kid’s hair, earning a yelp of surprise in response, watched as Zuko shook his head and laughed. A low, fleeting sound, a little tired, but for how short-lived it was, it sounded so... free. Zuko was a boy who forced himself behind all these walls, an enigma Sokka had been desperate to solve, but here in this clearing, thinking he was alone with just Zi Se, Zuko seemed different. Not calm, that much was obvious by the rigidness of his shoulders – hidden beneath black fabric, no Fire Nation regalia in sight – but nonetheless uncannily different. 

Still, just because Zuko laughed one time and apparently wasn’t a total asshole to children didn’t mean that he had any justification for showing up here. 

He'd said he wasn’t after Aang anymore, and Sokka had believed him. Sokka wouldn’t be made a fool twice; he knew Zuko must have followed them here. Spirits, he probably killed Fong and came straight back here after a nice catch up with his maniacal sister. All in a day’s work for a Fire Nation royal. 

Sokka pushed down all thoughts of terrified golden eyes, all memories of tortured skin, all instincts still whispering about this stupid boy, and stalked forward. 

“I’ll give you this,” Sokka said loudly, and Zuko whirled on him so fast that he stumbled back a pace, yanking Zi Se behind him, “you’re persistent.” 

“Sokka.” Zuko breathed, completely caught off guard, golden eyes flicking over Sokka and resting on the boomerang held firmly in Sokka’s hand. 

“I won’t let you get Aang.” Sokka said, determined as he rooted his stance. Sokka had seen Zuko fighting in the Boiling Rock, and it left him shaken to say the least. The sporadic, growly boy with the ponytail that he had grown used to fighting was long gone, leaving this unpredictable swordsman-slash-blue-fire-wielder in his place. Zuko had his sword, and he knew how to use it too, and he also had his bending. Sokka only had Boomerang and his brain, but he’d done more with less before. Zuko had the advantage, but Sokka wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

It helped that he was still so angry. 

So there Sokka was, ready for an epic showdown with his rival, ready to finally find an outlet for all this confusion that had built up within him because of this asshole, and what did Zuko say? 

“Who the fuck is Aang?” 

It was silent for a few beats as Sokka tried to figure out if he’d genuinely heard that right, Zuko just staring owlishly, Zi Se flicking his gaze between the two like he was watching them play catch. 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Sokka finally blinked in surprise, before scoffing dryly. “Aang, the _Avatar?_ ” 

“Oh,” Zuko said, a flush of red creeping up his neck, “oh, no, yeah, I remember.” 

Sokka narrowed his eyes, noticing things he hadn’t let himself notice before. Zuko was refusing to put too much weight on his one leg, and he was pale, paler than normal, his breathing a little shallow. He had a bust lip that he kept worrying at. Who could possibly have given that to the Prince when he was in his own nation? 

He didn’t look good. It was different to how he looked when they bumped into each other at the Boiling Rock, because that roughness came from the external damage done to his body, the scars carved into his chest and running over his shoulders and-. Sokka stopped thinking about it. 

But this seemed more internal. Maybe he was sick... 

Good, hopefully he’d keel over and stop bothering them all. He'd be easier to beat like this. Sokka wasn’t going to let his empathy get in his way. He shoved it down, clutching Boomerang tight enough to almost cut himself. This was _Zuko_. He'd given him a chance once before, and he’d thrown it back in his face. He'd made an accomplice out of Sokka, he’d put blood on Sokka’s hands. Sokka wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

“You should leave.” Sokka suggested, the threat to his words poorly hidden behind a casual shrug. 

“I’m not here for the Avatar.” Zuko said, and he sounded so disgustingly authentic that it made Sokka want to punch him for even having the nerve to try and trick him again. 

“I don’t believe you.” Sokka said simply, and a wave of frustration rushed over Zuko’s face. 

“Look, I need to talk to Hakoda. It's important, it’s about the war-.” 

Sokka wasn’t listening. Sokka stopped listening the moment _his father’s name_ fell from _Prince Zuko’s_ mouth. He'd seen them together in that library, all hushed conversations and glances that talked of history. He’d seen the way his dad got whenever Zuko was mentioned, whenever they danced around the topic of it. Tui, Sokka still didn’t know. He still had no explanation for this side of things, for why Hakoda - a man he _idolised_ – had befriended this boy who was so clearly evil. And now Zuko was here. 

Sokka had always had a taste for theatrics, and he felt a bitter smile, empty and hurt, twist his face. 

“You want to see my dad? Fine, let’s go, Your Highness.” 

“I-… what?” Zuko said, frowning, suddenly uncertain, thrown off by Sokka’s change in attitude. Zi Se looked distressed by now, and it was almost enough to make Sokka put a pin in his and Zuko’s conversation in order to make sure the kid was alright, but he held his ground. 

“Come on, we can all have a nice catch up. It'll be fun.” Sokka furthered, walking towards Zuko and grabbing his elbow, yanking the firebender forward. He yanked a little too hard, and Zuko almost stumbled, but in Sokka’s defence, he was expecting Zuko to do something, _anything_. But he didn’t. He didn’t retaliate, he didn’t try and move away from Sokka. He tensed completely under Sokka’s touch, pupils devouring irises in something that looked an awful lot like fear for a moment there, but he didn’t fight. Sokka wanted him to fight. 

Instead, Zuko just let himself be steered forward. 

“Zuko?” Zi Se said, hurrying along after them with wide eyes. Great, now the kid thought Sokka was an asshole. Fantastic. 

“It’s fine, Zi Se.” Zuko said, and there was that tiredness again, like he was just resigned to being treated like this. It wasn’t right. Zuko didn’t _do_ this. Zuko yelled and threw fire and was an all-round pain in the ass. He'd been tempered in the Boiling Rock, like a controlled blaze, set on a single target. Sokka had found out that the target had been Fong that whole time, and Zuko had let loose in a burning cataclysm the moment he found him. 

He wasn’t like that here. Something was wrong, and even through the fabric of Zuko’s clothes, Sokka noticed the firebender was burning up. Which was... ironic, to say the least. There was a pun in there somewhere, but Sokka for once wasn’t in the mood. Part of his mind tried to ration that maybe firebenders naturally ran hotter than normal people, but Sokka had shared a very enclosed space with the firebender in question, and he had no memory of Zuko being like this then. 

Sokka groaned, letting go of Zuko with an aggressive shove in favour of throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. He was confused and angry and he hadn’t even made it to the damn treeline. 

“What?!” Sokka yelled, earning a perplexed stare from the other boy, who was absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm where Sokka had previously clamped onto. Zi Se was pulling on the hem of Zuko’s tunic, desperately trying to get his attention, but Zuko didn’t look away from Sokka, as if he expected him to lunge if he did. Sokka was tempted to. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“That’s the _problem_.” Sokka seethed, pointing his boomerang and ignoring the way it made Zuko flinch. “You’re being weird. You should be going back at me, or... or _something_.” 

Zuko rolled his eyes, a hint of impatience. “You want me to hit you, is that it?” He asked, and Sokka felt rage spike through him. This jerk should really leave the sarcasm to the professionals. 

“Stop it!” Zi Se shouted, cutting off the clever remark Sokka was about to say as the kid stomped between them, glaring at both boys. “Stop _fighting_.” 

It cut the atmosphere in half, all the tension and anger that had been building up in a heavy bubble around them suddenly bursting, because Zi Se sounded so young, so desperate, so _scared_ , that Sokka actually felt bad, even though it was entirely Zuko’s fault 

The sudden lapse of silence, of stilted calm after Sokka had risen to anger so quickly, forced him to think a moment. 

He couldn’t leave Zuko up here, loose like a dangerous animal. He couldn’t beat him in a fight either. Sokka's initial idea to drag him down to the temple had been spurred by spite, a need to let out his anger at both Zuko and Hakoda simultaneously, but here, he let himself take a deep breath. It was the smart decision, as well as the petty one. A win-win. And it seemed Zuko, still so pliant and refusing to try and evade Sokka, seemed to agree, which was _beyond_ infuriating. 

“You know if we go down there,” Sokka said, tone serious as he stared Zuko down, “you won’t stand a chance. You're outnumbered, and we have some of the best fighters in the world all in one small space. You put one toe out of line, you’re done for. Understand?” 

Sokka was baiting him, waiting for the quick temper that he was familiar with, waiting for an excuse to bite back, but Zuko just slid his gaze to the nearby treeline, distant and almost sluggish. 

“I understand.” He said, sounding... sad? 

Spirits, Sokka couldn’t be doing with this. Zuko didn’t warrant the effort Sokka was wasting on him, so why was Sokka overthinking this so much? It didn’t matter _why_ Zuko was acting like this, only that he was and that it benefited Sokka. He needed to get his shit together. 

“Come on, grab your kid.” Sokka said, stomping off and trusting Zuko to at least have the presence of mind to follow him without doing anything stupid. 

“He’s not my kid.” Zuko mumbled, picking Zi Se up and holding him on his hip as if that was the most normal thing in the world. He didn’t look dangerous at all like that, expression sullen, a nearly-six-year-old looking happier than anything on his hip, as if Zuko wasn’t an evil firebender with a body count. 

“Rephrase: grab your questionably accumulated kid. Better?” Sokka asked, bitter teasing radiating from him. 

Zuko let the joke fly over his head, nodding seriously. “Better.” 

____ 

The Western Air Temple was far bigger than it seemed from the outside, balustrades hugging the cliff face and rooms eating into the earth, delving deeper than Hakoda ever considered before he went exploring with Tomkin and Nanook. Their aim was, officially, to find somewhere they could set up as a temporary strategy room, and hopefully one that had a table, but unofficially, Hakoda was a curious soul by nature, and Tomkin and Nanook had had plenty of time to learn a thing or two about this place before he arrived. 

“Sokka’s gone off again.” Nanook pointed out as they turned onto yet another corridor, trailing his hand against the elegant reliefs in the walls. 

“Spirits, if he’s on another _fishing trip_.” Tomkin flashed a knowing grin at Hakoda, and Hakoda rolled his eyes. If things were normal between him and Sokka, he’d be furious to find out his son had left alone and without telling anyone what he was up to. As it was, things weren’t normal between him and Sokka, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Not until Sokka let him tell the truth. 

“Aside that,” Hakoda said, “how were things?” 

Tomkin ducked his head sheepishly, and a small smile grew on Nanook’s lips, blue eyes a little distant. 

“I’d say we did a pretty good job.” Nanook said. 

Tomkin scoffed. “We lost a teenager. Like an entire teenager.” 

“He came back though, didn’t he?” Nanook teased, but Hakoda could see that he was compensating even if Tomkin couldn’t. It had been a big burden to place on the boys, but Hakoda hadn’t had any choice. In his absence, they’d taken care of the kids here, and they’d done a fine job of it whether they were able to see that or not. Truthfully, Hakoda had assumed Sokka would be hard to wrangle, given he was the eldest and had been independent so long. Admittedly, he never could have guessed his son’s instinctive response to authority would be immediately breaking into a Fire Nation prison alone without telling anyone, but he guessed he only had his own impulsive genetics to blame. 

“That wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” Hakoda asked, stopping and drawing himself up, facing the two boys in a way that left no escape. He'd faced Tomkin and Nanook a lot like this, but usually, it was to tell them off for whatever stupidity they’d gotten up to this time. Not now though. Now was different. 

Tomkin kicked the toe of his shoe into the floor, mumbling; “Should’ve kept a closer eye on him.” 

“I knew he was acting weird. I talked to him about it.” Nanook said, guilt furrowing his brow as he finally dropped the smug bravado he’d tried to don for Tomkin’s sake. 

“You can’t be everything for everybody, Nan.” Hakoda said. “He made his choice. A damn stupid one, but he made it. You did all you could. And I am so, so proud of both of you.” 

The words hung in the air, Tomkin sucking in a breath as his blue eyes finally snapped to meet Hakoda’s. Outside, Hakoda distantly heard the rest of the camp. Teo and The Duke had gone off to tentatively try and initiate a friendship with Chit Sang’s group, Kanut had just finished unpacking supplies in the room he’d found for an infirmary, and the last Hakoda saw Toph, she was leaving with Haru to do some earthbending. Everyone else was on one of the platforms, and Katara had been waterbending when Hakoda left with Tomkin and Nanook, gently teaching the Avatar, a soft look on her face. 

But despite the easy sounds of camp life, the air was heavy between the three of them, and they might as well have been miles away. Nanook's stare was piercing, as if Hakoda’s words had frozen him in place. 

Tomkin swallowed thickly. “You know, Chief, you did all you could too.” 

Hakoda hadn’t been expecting that, blinking in surprise before the words bore down on him like blades. He huffed in a deep breath, pushing down the swarm of stinging emotions threatening to spill out of him. 

“Let’s go explore this temple some more, eh?” Hakoda said, forcing a grin. Tomkin was quick to take his change in mood, smiling back, but Nanook looked more perceptive for a moment, before sighing and leading the way. 

They were too far away to hear anything out of the ordinary at first, but after a while, even the heavy rock sitting between them and where they’d left the others wasn’t enough to tune out the sudden, unignorable sound of... shouting? 

“We’ll go tell them to shut up.” Nanook said with a sigh, but Hakoda saw the fond curl to his small smile. “You keep looking for a strategy room.” 

Hakoda couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, Chief.” 

“Ha.” Nanook said dryly. 

“After you, Chief Nan.” Tomkin said, gesturing elegantly back down the corridor. Hakoda watched them go, the idle bickering between the pair. It felt good to be reunited with them, it felt right. But seeing them as a trio had felt right too. Tomkin, the ball of energy. Nanook, the voice of reason. Zuko, the quiet one just sharp enough to get them in trouble. The three of them had reminded Hakoda of his own youth, of days spent with Bato and Kanut. 

Hakoda sighed around the ache within him. He knew how it felt to miss someone. He'd done this all before. Sometimes, he wondered if his whole life would be this way. Him never doing enough, the people he loved suffering for it. He blamed himself. For all of it. For Kya, for Tomkin’s parents, for Sokka and Katara having to leave, for his men being imprisoned, for losing Zuko. 

Hakoda was a leader. Leaders made decisions. This was the responsibility that crushed him when those decisions turned out to be wrong. 

He would shoulder this burden. Always. 

____ 

There was a thin set of stairs hugging the cliff face, leading down to the main temple, and Zuko held Zi Se tight as he made the precarious journey down, not trusting his state of mind right now. He felt fine, and he could stay standing perfectly fine, but there was a sluggishness to his movements, a fuzz tinting the edges of his vision, unaided by how unbearably warm he was. It felt like Zuko was only fine because he was forcing himself to be, and the moment he relaxed even the smallest part of himself, it would all come tumbling down. 

He stared at Sokka’s back, the tension there, the way his boomerang’s scabbard moved with his shoulder blades, needing something, _anything_ to focus on. The other teenager had been uncharacteristically quiet, and it was somehow so indubitably different to how things were between them at the Boiling Rock. Sokka saw what Zuko did, and he hated him. He'd always hated him, but this hatred surpassed a teenage grudge into the realms of genuine contempt. Zuko didn’t mind though. He deserved it. This was his sentence. He didn’t regret what he did, which meant he deserved to be hated for it. 

Zuko was jolted from his thoughts when Sokka froze. He hadn’t realised the extent of the daydreams he’d had running through his head, intricate imaginations of how this moment would pan out, expectations of shouting and bitter reunions, until Sokka stopped walking, Zuko absentmindedly putting down Zi Se and letting the kid duck shyly behind his leg. There, right before Zuko, was the Western Air Temple. He'd walked right in like it was nothing, distracted by his own cloudy mind and leaving himself no time to prepare. It was too late to turn back now. 

They were on a wide platform, flat and cutting off dramatically into the ravine, a large arch on the opposite edge leading into the main room of the temple. Zuko smelled smoke from a campfire, saw the evidence of inhabitance in the form of messy bedrolls and dirty bowls, and the cause of it all was spelled out before him, clear as day. 

There were eight people out here, and Zuko’s mind gave him the small mercy of slowly taking them in one at a time. He saw Suki first, given away by the quick jump her hands made to her fans, not raising them yet, but holding them firm, eyes wide. She was the closest to him, leaning against the rocky wall, previously casual stance abandoned with graceful efficiency. She’d been watching Katara and the Avatar as they trained in the clearing before her. Zuko hadn’t seen Katara in months, not since the pirate incident, and the sight of her here made him want to shrink into himself. She looked far more at ease than she had then, flicking water around her wrist, and Zuko turned rigid at the sight, feeling just how vulnerable he’d truly made himself. She hadn’t noticed him yet, too focussed on directing the Avatar into a better bending stance. 

And there he was. The Avatar. Zuko expected something, anything, but when he looked at him, all he felt was a sadness curling deep within him. He'd hated this boy, he’d hunted him, and then he saved him. But now, all the Avatar represented was three years of Zuko’s life lost to his father’s cruelty. _Do you think we could have been friends?_ It started all this, in a way. 

There were others, five men sat before the far wall, a few sharpening weapons, one leaning back on his elbows as if he was trying to drink in Agni’s light, the one furthest away captivated by a heavy looking book. Zuko didn’t want to look, wasn’t brave enough to, but at the same time, he couldn’t keep himself away, golden eyes sliding over them one by one. 

Kanut, on the end with a book, freshly-shaven and reading with the same unblinking ferocity he’d turned on Zuko in the library. _I can help him_. He'd sounded so sure. 

Zuko didn’t know the man sunbathing, letting his gaze jump over him; he had more pressing matters at hand than trying to wrack his swimming thoughts for a name. Those matters at hand coming in the form of Chena, Aput and Tulok, sat together and chatting easily about something Zuko couldn’t hear, broken up only by Chena’s ridiculously loud laugh, which Zuko thought he would probably hear from a mile away. Seeing Kanut jolted something in Zuko, but he’d seen the man barely a week ago. 

But these three... it had been _months_. They sat there so casually, like their presence wasn’t making Zuko’s hands shake. Chena, whose refusal to trust him made it all the more significant when he did. Aput, whose deep blue gaze had watched over him every day he was on deck. Tulok, whose understanding had led to Zuko’s. 

And now, they would hate him. They would look up and they would hate him, and Zuko thought he’d be strong enough to handle that, but he wasn’t so sure now. 

“Sokka, you’re back.” Suki said, almost... timid, but Zuko could see the way she was flicking her gaze between the teenager at Zuko’s side and the rest of the warriors, trying to get their attention. 

“Did you find anything?” Katara asked, water whooshing into the air upon her command, completely absorbed in her bending. 

Sokka threw a hollow, cocky look to Zuko; “You could say that.” 

There was something in his tone, something a little on the edge of frantic, and Zuko shouldn’t have been surprised when Kanut flicked up his icy stare. 

Their eyes met. Zuko swallowed and held his ground. A book snapped shut and it might as well have been as loud as an explosion for what it did to Zuko’s nerves. The silence lasted seconds, a dizzy pause. To Zuko, it was an eternity. 

“Well,” Kanut finally said, and his lips curled up, “you look like shit.” 

Zuko choked on a scoff, surprised, winded, and muttered a weak; “You’re not much of a sight yourself.” 

Everyone turned to him when he spoke, like his voice was enough to make gazes flinch to the source, and there was a moment of stunned silence, Chena’s jaw going slack and Tulok dropping the whetstone he’d been holding, Katara gasping before sharpening water into ice shards around her, and then, the silence was broken, and it was broken by the person Zuko least expected would want to talk to him. 

“Zuko!” The Avatar cried, grinning. Agni, he looked _relieved_. He looked relieved to the point of ridiculousness, like Zuko was water in a desert. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” The Avatar continued babbling. “After the last time I saw you... and then you just _disappeared_ , it was like something bad had happened. And I asked and asked Iroh but he always turned so sad when I brought you up. I thought something terrible had happened... But now you’re here!” 

Zuko was struggling to concentrate on the fluttery Avatar, the weight of the Water Tribe warrior’s stares heavy on him as they figured out what to do next. What were they _thinking?_ Zuko fretfully kept his eyes, confused and perplexed, on the Avatar, who bounced on his heels energetically. 

“What is he _doing_ here?” Katara hissed, saving Zuko from having to answer as she looked to her brother, jerking an angry chin. 

“Says he’s got ‘information on the war’.” Sokka said, sceptical and languid, but his eyes were too sharp for his nonchalance to be genuine. 

“Stop saying that like I'm lying.” Zuko said quietly, if only to say something, because Kanut was still staring at him, and Aput and Tulok were frozen in place, and Zuko knew realistically they’d only had a few seconds to take in the information that he was _here_ , after four months, he was here, but- oh Agni, Chena was moving. 

The big warrior stomped forward, and Zuko swore he’d somehow gotten taller, grey eyes narrowed, almost glaring, a ferocity to his movements that saw Sokka jumping back when he finally stopped a pace away from Zuko, close enough for Zuko to have to tip his head back a little to look him stubbornly in the eye, Zi Se clinging to his leg in fear. 

Chena’s hair had been pulled back, intricate braids woven into the brown strands juxtaposing the harsh plains of his face. He was all aggression, he always had been, with a scruffy chin and a scar above his eyebrow delivered from Zuko’s own knuckles, broad shoulders that could knock grown men into the dirt. But he wasn’t so bad, and Zuko had created a fragile understanding with him, because for a moment, months ago, they were the only two on that mainmast, and the lightning was terrifying but Zuko was willing to bear it for him, for them, for this. 

And now, Chena stood before him. After all this time, they were all within reach. 

“Chena?" Aput asked tentatively, and Zuko realised Aput and Tulok had gotten to their feet, slowly approaching where Zuko and Chena stared each other down. Chena's grey eyes were imploring, flickering between Zuko’s unblinking own, searching for something, something Zuko didn’t have. He knew what anger looked like on this man, hatred too. He didn’t know this though. Chena wasn’t sticking to the script Zuko had concocted. In his mind, they’d all been outraged at his nerve to show up here, a prince in the ashes of his ancestor’s genocide, blood still dripping from his own hands. In his mind, Chena struck out at him, maybe a quick punch, or a regression to their introduction; a machete. 

So when Chena blinked first, when Chena broke into a teeth-bared, half-wild grin, when Chena grabbed Zuko’s arm, locking on his elbow, Zuko’s own hand mimicking in a style familiarised to him by Tomkin and Nanook on a ship deck – Water Tribe style, Zuko felt like he was drowning. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but Chena held him so tight, letting loose a whooping laugh before his free hand knotted into the fabric at Zuko’s shoulder, aggressively finding purchase like he still couldn’t quite believe it. 

“You son of a bitch.” Chena was saying, shaking his head. “You stubborn, idiotic, infuriating _son of a bitch._ ” 

And it was like Aput and Tulok had been waiting for that, waiting for the wild card to decide what to do with the mess Zuko had just shoved at their feet, because they surged forward. 

“Your hair!” Aput said, gently mussing the black locks in question and making Zuko duck away, managing to use that as an excuse to slip from Chena’s iron grip. 

“Never mind his hair,” Tulok hissed, and Zuko almost flinched when he saw the warrior’s eyes were _teary_. Logically, he knew Tulok had always been soft at heart, but he’d been expecting hatred from all of them, not... this. “why do you have a _kid?_ ” 

Zuko had felt submerged ever since the Avatar addressed him with a smile, water heavy around his ears, heartbeat pumping at a deafening volume. He was choking on each wave of information, desperately trying to navigate the dark waters, screaming _why_ into the emptiness and coughing up fear and confusion each time. But the question, the reminder of Zi Se still clinging to Zuko so firmly, was buoying, if only for a moment before the waves crashed again. 

“It’s... a long story.” Zuko said, looking down to Zi Se and offering him a comforting smile. The kid looked beyond intimidated, surrounded by men who must seem like giants to him, but he trusted Zuko to keep him safe. 

“I don’t understand.” Katara muttered, staring with wide eyes, looking accusingly between the three warriors and Zuko. 

“Oh good, I thought it was just me.” Said the warrior who had been sunbathing before. Zuko didn’t know him, but he’d stood up by now, watching the scene before him with a raised eyebrow, muscled arms crossed over his chest. He had black hair that fell just past his shoulders, and despite his nonchalant aura, his stare was piercing. 

Zuko still felt dizzy, leg throbbing with each beat of his racing heart, and it was affecting his filter. He knew, in some dusty crevice of his mind, that the Avatar was called Aang. He'd stashed it away as another bit of information to aid his hunt. That didn’t mean he hadn’t completely blanked when Sokka said it earlier, and when usually he’d be internally screaming at himself to figure out who Sokka meant, he instead just let the question – sharp and confused, _‘who the fuck is Aang?’_ \- tumble messily from his mouth. 

He hadn't learned, clearly, because he looked at the warrior and said; “You’re new.” 

Kanut barked out a laugh, amusement only growing when the man beside him gasped in offence. 

“Me?” The man hissed, affronted. “ _You’re_ new.” 

“Okay, can someone please tell me what’s going on?!” Katara shouted, looking helplessly for _anyone_ with answers, her hatred for Zuko waning into desperate confusion. 

It was the perfect opportunity to grasp at some semblance of calm. Zuko had questions himself, namely wondering why no one had tried to get rid of him yet, why him showing up here had been met with nothing but relief, why Kanut was _so damn quiet_. It would also give him the opportunity to stress that he was here to deliver information. He couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t. He made a decision; he wasn’t going to be their burden anymore. Now, spurred by Katara’s question, it would make sense for everyone to just take a breath and figure out where they stood. 

Instead, two more people rounded the corner, a complaint on their lips that they choked on when they saw Zuko, and Zuko stopped breathing altogether. 

Tomkin and Nanook were never far apart, determined by shameless laughter and warm comradery. Zuko knew them sober with scars and cold hair beads, he knew them drunk with alcohol-sweet smiles, he knew them fearful of him, friendly to him, he knew the way Tomkin always sat a little too close to people, he knew the way Nanook watched those he cared about and how it felt the day that careful gaze started to include him. 

They had been his friends. The month was short, but it taught Zuko everything. And these two... they taught him how to be a teenager, how to have fun, how to love and be loved in turn, even if it never got a chance to solidify. 

The last time Zuko saw them, it had been tense, uncomfortable. Nanook was playing peacemaker and Tomkin was sulking. _You're his friend. Friends don’t abandon each other after one little disagreement._ How was murder for a disagreement, throwing all of their teachings back in their face to choose hatred? Zuko suddenly felt grateful for the way Chena, Aput and Tulok had crowded around him, shrinking into their shadows, as if he could hide. Was it shame or cowardice? Did it matter? 

Tomkin’s eyes were wide, dragging agonisingly slowly over Zuko, and Nanook’s hand had flown to his face, hovering there in shock. Zuko waited, paralysed – the caribou-yak at the end of the spear, the fox-antelope at the end of the dagger. 

“You’re here.” Tomkin finally uttered, words barely more than a breath. 

And then he was moving, and Nanook snapped out of it to follow a pace behind, and it took Zuko right until the last moment to realise what was happening, having barely a second to quickly root his feet before Tomkin crashed against him. It was all arms, Nanook following quickly, limbs locking around each other and just _holding_ there. Zuko let out a choked breath, partly in relief and partly the air being forcibly knocked from his ribs in a painful clatter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t care about the ache in his bones or the part of his mind that was screaming against every point of his skin that was touched and restrained. He didn’t care, because Tomkin and Nanook were _here_ , Tomkin crying into his shoulder and Nanook grasping onto Zuko’s tunic. Carefully, Zuko hugged back, letting himself sink into the smell of salt that always seemed to cling to the tribesmen no matter how long they were away from sea. He didn’t understand. None of it made sense, none of it stuck to the course he’d planned out in his head. He hugged them back like they were about to be torn from him, desperately, animalistic, because this made no sense, and it couldn’t last. Things like this never lasted. 

“I don’t understand." Zuko whispered, wide-eyed and winded. “I thought you’d be angry.” 

“Oh, you _idiot_.” Nanook groaned, smiling when he pulled back. 

They managed to untangle from each other, but Tomkin’s hand stayed firmly on Zuko’s shoulder, holding him in place like he expected him to vanish. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and demanding when they snapped to Zuko’s. 

“Please tell me,” Tomkin spoke quietly, like he was scared of the answer, “that you haven’t spent this whole time thinking I was angry with you.” 

Zuko had. _Of course_ he had. It had been a certainty until all of five minutes ago, something he hadn’t even thought to reconsider. Of course they would be angry, if not for the obvious, then for how they left things. Zuko, tarnishing the friendship they’d given so easily. Zuko, storming off without saying goodbye. He was the one who made this bitter, he was the one who set it on fire, and he’d thought about it every day for four months. 

Everyone was staring, and Zuko somehow still had the presence of mind to blush, ducking his head and making it look like he was just checking on Zi Se, who grabbed his hand territorially. Zuko heaved in a sigh, managing a weak; “It would be okay if you were.” 

“But _we’re not_.” Nanook said, his sudden vehemence making Zuko’s mind go blank. “We’re not angry. We never were. You're with us now. That's what matters.” 

It sounded an awful lot like safety, and it made Zuko want to collapse into it. 

“But...” Katara stammered, finally too horrified to keep quiet. “He’s Prince Zuko!” 

Tomkin plastered on a shaky grin for her. "Exactly." 

Zuko felt... jaded, like this was all noise above the water’s surface and he was still thrashing beneath it all. 

“If you’ve all got your hugs and kisses out the way,” Kanut said with a pointed look, “can we please address the child.” 

“Weirdly enough, I don’t think the kid is the most pressing part of this.” Sokka said, and it made Zuko flinch. There was something deeply unsettling about a boy so obnoxiously loud going quiet for so long, simply watching, eyes far too perceptive for Zuko’s liking. It didn’t help that he knew Sokka was smart. 

Chena looked at Zi Se for a long moment, long enough that the kid ducked behind Zuko’s leg again, before asking, delicate as ever; "He yours?” 

“ _No_ , he’s not mine, you idiot.” Zuko hissed, making Aput snicker. 

Chena threw up his hands. “Fuck, you just got back and I already want to punch you.” 

Zuko hated that he tensed at the threat, remembering Spider’s voice, violence-soaked. He shook the thought away, opening his mouth to go back at Chena. 

Whatever shitty response he had got cut off by a shrill; “ _Prickly?!_ ” 

____ 

Toph had been with Haru, teaching him some of her more refined earthbending skills in a sturdier part of the temple so they wouldn’t accidentally topple the place. Toph liked Haru. He was quiet, but not in a shy sense, more in a thoughtful sense. He also thought Toph was really cool what with the whole seeing-with-earthbending gig, and Toph liked when her coolness was appreciated. It could go criminally underrated sometimes. 

They hadn’t been alone long, which is to say, Toph left the rest of the idiots alone for _barely an hour_ , and suddenly, she felt heartrates spiking, some running, and two extra beats. Admittedly, she was pretty far away from everyone now, and was only still in-tune with them all because she’d been bending, but Toph’s trust in herself was unshakable. 

Something was wrong. 

Now, when Toph said ‘something was wrong’, that meant she was expecting crazy Fire Princesses or sinking libraries or the _damn Dai Li_. When she instead rounded the corner into the clearing and felt, well, nothing out of the ordinary, she turned rigid. Toph pressed her feet deeper into the earth. No one had noticed her arrival just yet, which gave her a few sweet seconds to just _observe_. 

There were two newcomers. One was undoubtedly a child. Toph could always tell. Kids were lighter, and their tiny hearts raced in a weird way, like wingbeats from the small birds Toph remembered from the Beifong estate. The other was a teenager, lithe and with a rooted stance that said they felt threatened... or defensive... or... 

Toph frowned. They were being weird. They were standing weird and breathing weird and their heart said they were scared, confused, not aggressive. 

And then they spoke, a distinctly masculine voice coming out as an impatient hiss, hoarse and deep and unmistakable. Toph was good at remembering voices. The same way other people remembered faces, Toph remembered voices, able to pick them out no matter how brief she’d heard them, no matter how long ago. And Prickly’s voice had been distinctive even before he gave her a reason to lock it into memory. 

“ _No_ , he’s not mine, you idiot.” Prickly was saying – rather, _snarling_ \- and Toph just stood there, unmoving. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but it checked out. It explained why Tomkin and Nanook were freaking out, why everyone else seemed so perplexed. But it just... Prickly was a guy Toph met once. Only once. But he’d been funny, and he didn’t tiptoe around her, and he’d chatted with her in a time when she had no other friends. That wasn’t the case anymore, but Prickly... he’d left his mark. It didn't help that the dumbass went missing, and that his other friends happened to be part of the Chief’s crew. Toph didn’t believe in fate, couldn’t hear about destiny from Aang. She was an earthbender; she directed her own paths. But she’d met Prickly in the street by chance that day, and he refused to be smothered since, cropping up in everyone’s minds whenever it was most inconvenient. Toph didn’t have any right to be worried about him, and she _hadn’t_ been worried about him. Obviously. That would be stupid. 

But he was here now, and she couldn’t explain the burst of wild relief that shot through her. 

“ _Prickly?_ ” Toph shouted, her voice cutting through the tension of the clearing, and she felt heads turn to her. Toph just firmly held her hands to her hips. 

Prickly stammered a moment. “Priss...?” He uttered, so quiet Toph was sure only her incredible hearing caught it, but it made her grin all the same; a confirmation. Prickly must have caught on, because he exhaled sharply, just as shocked as her. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” He asked, and great, now the idiot sounded _soft_ , like he was _happy_ to see her. She couldn’t blame him, of course, but Toph was just happy he wasn’t dead. They didn’t need to get all emotional about it. 

“I’m teaching Aang earthbending. What are _you_ doing here?” Toph threw back, shaking her head, still grinning. 

“Toph,” Katara snapped, “he’s the _Fire Prince._ ” 

Okay so, that one did catch Toph off guard. She'd pondered endlessly about Prickly’s true identity, about Tomkin and Nanook’s strange anonymity whenever they talked about the guy, as if he was an important person or something. Famous. Toph had thought of nobles and ministers, warriors and chieftains. She'd been thinking in the realms of ‘important members of society’, but the Fire Nation royal family hadn’t crossed her mind. Obviously. Because they were, you know, _the Fire Nation royal family._

But Toph held her tongue a moment, thinking this over. So Prickly was the Fire Prince. She'd heard all the stories about the guy – shit, what was his name? Zuzu? - but she also knew he hadn’t bothered them in months, and Toph had met him and liked him, and besides, that made him Iroh’s nephew, and Iroh was a good guy. A good guy, who was a member of the Fire Nation royal family, thus proving they weren’t _inherently_ evil pieces of shit. 

The Water Tribe warriors had good instincts, brilliant even, though she wouldn’t tell it to Sokka, and Toph trusted her own judgement. This boy, whether Prickly or Fire Prince, passed her test. 

“Oh,” Toph said, snickering, “so _you’re_ the guy they keep whinging about. It checks out.” 

Toph heard Katara spluttering, and yeah, she’d be getting an earful about that later, and she might even deserve it this time, but Prickly’s heart was being weird. The guy was scared, and not in the normal way. There was some emotional baggage here, stuff that didn’t involve Toph _or_ Katara. 

“Zuko,” so not Zuzu then, noted, “how is it that you know just about everyone here?” Nanook asked, exasperated. 

“He knows the Blue Spirit too.” Sokka said charmingly, after being quiet _way_ too long for Sokka, and he sounded smug, spiteful, even when Pr- _Zuko_ elbowed him in the ribs. 

Aang’s heartrate, out of everyone’s, was the one that spiked a little there, and Tomkin gasped. "Shut up, do you actually?” 

“Who is it?” Suki asked, intrigued, and Toph was a little too. She'd heard a lot about the Blue Spirit, mainly from Sokka who blatantly had a crush on the poor guy, and Toph didn’t like not knowing things. 

Zuko shifted, uncomfortable, and turned to Aang. “You didn’t tell them?” 

Aang was quiet for approximately one whole second, before bursting. 

“I didn’t know how!” He exploded, nervous and... apologetic? “They weren’t feeling great anyway and then we didn’t see you for ages and I just couldn’t face it!” 

“Face what?” Katara asked softly, because when _Aang_ got all loud it was okay, but when Toph and Sokka did it they were ‘annoying’ and ‘attracting attention from local authorities.’ 

“Wait,” Kanut said suddenly, voice quiet, as if he’d been watching this whole time and was just now connecting something together, "wait, Zuko, are you serious?” 

“What? Serious about what?” Tomkin whined, and Toph could feel the way he was flicking his head between Zuko and Kanut. 

Kanut wasn’t listening, clearly still coming to terms with the conclusion he’d just come to. “ _You're_ the Blue Spirit?!” 

“There it is.” Sokka said, a biting grin in his words. 

Yeah, Toph hadn’t seen that one coming either. 

____ 

Hakoda kept exploring when Tomkin and Nanook left, trusting them to sort out whatever argument the kids had gotten themselves into, and he’d delved deeper into the temple. It was beautiful, in a dead sense, like a memorial. What happened here was a tragedy, through and through, each corner whispering the smell of blood, of injustice. Hakoda had been deep in thought when he found the room, thinking about Aang, the last airbender, how it must feel for him to be here. Hakoda had seen the way Aang and Katara looked at each other. There was something going on there. Hakoda prided himself on not being a pushy father. He trusted his kids. They were capable, and they’d had to prove that more than ever these past few years. They could keep each other safe, but their personal lives, their hearts – that was something Hakoda still held close. He hadn’t been able to protect them these past two years, but he was here now. It was quickly apparent that his authority had lost its authenticity; how could he order them around when he was the one to abandon them to ruling themselves? And Sokka was sixteen now, which meant the most Hakoda could do was eye him whenever he was with Suki. 

Katara though... Katara was only fourteen, and keeping her from getting hurt in an emotional sense was one right Hakoda still had as a father. So he’d been critical of the Avatar, and he’d planned to be tough on the kid. Nothing mean, but Bato said Hakoda was ‘testing’ Aang, and maybe he was. Katara deserved someone incredible, and Hakoda would be a terrible father if he didn’t try even a little bit to oversee that. 

It was hard to scrutinise Aang when he was here though. The kid was twelve. Technicality could throw that haunting ’one-hundred-and-twelve' at Hakoda all it liked; he still saw an energetic boy who couldn’t even grow stubble yet. He was a child, and he was walking around these dead corridors with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he still had it in him to smile. 

That’s where Hakoda’s mind had been as he explored, until he walked into a tiny room looking out over the ravine and stopped in his tracks. 

Someone had already been here. There was paper strewn everywhere, candles burned down to the floor, wax solidified in little puddles around them. Hakoda frowned, crouching and skimming his fingers over the paper, taking in the words they read. _Fire Nation. Prisoners of war. Capital City Prison. Shuhon Prison._

 _The Boiling Rock._

Hakoda flinched away like he’d been burned. This was Sokka. It had Sokka written all over it - the organised chaos, the lists, the meticulous, exhaustive planning. Sokka had done this, and he’d done it for Hakoda. He'd done it _alone_ , and he’d still pulled it off. 

Spirits, Hakoda just wanted to _talk_ to him, to explain, to understand. 

He was snapped from his thoughts by shouting, louder than before, loud enough to reach this far into the temple. It was fascinating, how voices carried in these old corridors. Wearily, Hakoda got to his feet. If it wasn’t quieting down after Tomkin and Nanook’s intervention, then the odds were that it was less a petty argument going on out there and more an almost-fight. Probably Chena. 

It didn’t take long for Hakoda to find his way out, squinting in the sunlight and shifting the sword between his shoulder blades to sit more comfortably. As soon as he was out of the shelter of the building, he was bombarded by the sound of shouting. 

“You are _so_ lucky I’m in a good mood!” Tomkin yelled, hands in his hair as he shook his head in disbelief. 

Nanook, beside him, was laughing. “Spirits, all that stuff you said to him about the Blue Spirit and it was him the _whole time_.” 

“You aren’t helping!” Tomkin groaned, shoving the older boy. 

“I can’t believe you never told us!” Katara whirled on Aang, hands on her hips with a glare angry enough to make grown warriors step back. 

The Avatar looked cornered. "Well, Toph was friends with him this whole time and she never told us!" 

“I never knew his name! It doesn’t _count_ , twinkletoes!” 

"The Blue Spirit.” Kanut looked like he was about to whack his head against the wall. 

Bato nodded in agreement, impressed. “The Blue Spirit. Not bad.” 

“Just another example of why he can’t be trusted." Sokka said, glare surprisingly hateful. “He lied to you, and you all believed it.” 

“Please,” Aput scoffed, turning to Tulok, “remember the rum incident?” 

Tulok laughed. “ _‘Espionage mission’_.” 

“He’s the worst liar I've ever met.” Chena concurred, scoffing. 

“Not necessarily.” Toph was leaning against the wall, an amused smirk on her face. “’I’m _with_ the Water Tribe’, I see what you did there, Sparky.” 

A raspy voice sounded from behind Chena’s looming form, dry and confused, like he was tentatively trying to find where he stood in the conversation. "Prickly, now Sparky. Have you got a problem with using people’s names?” 

The arguing continued, getting louder the longer it was allowed to go on, but Hakoda zoned out, focussing only on that voice, on the boy that stepped into view as he stooped down to pick up a child. 

He looked the same as he did in the library, but also, not at all. The ash was gone from his hair, the blood splatters missing from his face, and there was a nasty looking cut on his lip that made Hakoda’s stomach roil. He was wearing all black clothes, the fabric a little heavy on his thin form, and he had a _kid_ on his hip, the little boy resting his head on his shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. 

But still, it was _Zuko_. The same Zuko Hakoda marched down to Kanut’s infirmary all those months ago, the same Zuko who balled Hakoda’s furs into fists when he hugged him, like he didn’t know how to hold things without breaking them, like he was trying so hard to be gentle but couldn’t quite figure it out yet, because he’d never been shown, the same Zuko who stood completely alone as he drove a sword into a guilty man’s chest, and no one, not Hakoda nor Kanut nor Iroh, did enough to help him. It had been a selfish fear, but beneath the fear of what would happen to Zuko now, beneath the fear of what had already happened to Zuko, there was the fear that Hakoda wouldn’t get any more than this. The fear that he’d been given a piece of Zuko, a brilliant, blinding piece that he’d held close and learnt to care for, and that was it now. No more. Hakoda hadn’t done enough in that library, and he’d been so terrified that he’d never get the chance to make things right, to do better, to be better, to have more _time_. 

And now, Zuko was here, and relief hit Hakoda like a punch to the gut. 

Zuko saw Hakoda the same time Hakoda saw him, and for a few seconds, they held each other’s stare. The argument continued, Sokka now shouting at Tomkin and Aang, of all people, beginning to quietly defend Zuko. But Zuko didn’t react, like this had been going on a while and he’d tuned them out. He just stared, those golden eyes burning into Hakoda. Hakoda had once been unsettled by them. That gold... it was undeniable. Fire Nation, flame-touched and blood-stained. It had taken him and Zuko a lot to move them both past that, but _they had_. Blood is thicker than water, but you can swim or drown in either. They'd overcome it before. They would overcome it again. 

“Say something.” Zuko said, voice strangled, but it still silenced the argument going on around him. Zuko could do that, when he wanted to. He made his voice one that was listened to, one that was born to command a nation. He didn’t even notice. 

Everyone turned to see Hakoda, and what had once been a peculiar atmosphere of overjoyed relief mixed with outrage suddenly became an atmosphere of tension, uncertainty. 

They were waiting for the Chief’s call. 

“You’ve got a kid.” Hakoda said, allowing a small smile. “He yours?” 

Chena laughed, Tulok rolled his eyes, and the tension fell like a downpour. Hakoda was grinning now, taking a few strides to stand in front of Zuko, placing a gentle hand to the boy’s shoulder and _holding on_. He wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon. Not again. 

“I thought you’d hate me, after what I did.” Zuko whispered, eyes wide, scared. It had been a long time since he looked at Hakoda like that. “I'm just here to tell you about an attack that’s coming. Then I'll-.” 

“Zuko,” Hakoda said softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze, grounding the firebender in place, “when is this attack?” 

Zuko blinked in surprise. “During Sozin’s Comet.” 

Hakoda nodded, before moving his hand to clasp the back of Zuko’s head, staring him down with all the determination, all the savage protectiveness, all the agonised love of a _father_. 

“Then it can wait.” 

____ 

Pain becomes interesting upon certain intensities. In some ways, a scratch sings louder than a haemorrhage. Logically, the more pain the body is put under, the more it reacts, but Zuko knew better. There reaches a point, the point of agony, where it all dulls out into white noise, like floating face down, muffled. Present, but detached. Pain becomes the constant state, as if there had never been a time before or after. 

Sometimes, when Zuko was dragged back into the main cell, the pain would pulse through him in the aftermath of a wound, but still, he’d float in that strange white noise. For all intents and purposes, the blade was still cutting, the fire still burning. It still screamed in its intensity. Because that’s what pain did. That's what Fong did. He made it so Zuko couldn’t tell pain from painless, injury from isolation, danger from safety. It all became one constant and he couldn’t get out of it. 

But as he stood beneath Agni’s blistering rays with the tribesmen around him, Zuko felt... sobered. It was the moment he got out of Fong’s base all over again, squinting up at the sky. It had hurt, and it was blinding, and it was all far, far too much. But for the first time in a long time, he was being overwhelmed by something good. 

The others had subconsciously swarmed around him, until there was a cluster of people so blatantly in Zuko’s space that it felt a little like he was back in the cell. There was a wall to Zuko’s side, part of the arch leading into the main temple, and he was desperate to move closer. He needed something to lean on. He settled for just putting Zi Se down again, ridding himself of at least one weight. 

The kid pouted up at him unhappily. “You said not long. It's too busy here. I don’t like it.” 

Zuko just held Zi Se’s hand, giving his small fingers a tight squeeze. There was nothing he could say here, with so many potential listeners. Honesty came so easily with Zi Se, but so did deceit. The truth was, this was actually a hearing. The truth was, there were a dozen faces waiting to decide what to do with him. The truth was, every second that passed made Zuko’s limbs feel heavier and heavier. He was exhausted, his mind slow, and he _just didn’t know what was happening_. He couldn’t tell Zi Se that, so he said nothing at all. 

“Why don’t you start by telling us about Sozin’s Comet?” Hakoda said, voice so infuriatingly patient, like he’d be there for Zuko no matter what. _Unconditional_. It made Zuko shiver. He couldn’t let himself believe such a thing. 

Zuko swallowed, hating how everyone’s attention turned to him. Tomkin and Nanook were the closest to Zuko now, almost flanking him, and the other Water Tribe warriors weren’t far away. Hakoda stood before Zuko, Sokka and Katara coming to stand at his sides and the rest of their group – Priss included, or Toph as she was actually called – crowded around them. Sokka's gaze was heavy, watching Zuko’s every move, still holding his boomerang like he was just wating for an opportunity to use it. Katara was much the same, hand on her waterskin. Zuko couldn’t blame them. 

“You already know about the comet then? What it’ll do?” Zuko asked, remembering learning about the Great Comet, the power it wielded, how Sozin used that to wipe out the Air Nomads. The temple hung knowingly over Zuko’s head, and he felt guilty. 

“Roku told us.” The Avatar said, like that was a sentence that made sense. Zuko stared, confused, before opting to ignore that for now. 

“Yes, well, the last time a Fire Lord was able to harness such power,” Zuko continued, “he used it to start a war. This time, my father wants...” Zuko’s gaze fell to his hands, picturing flames dancing over them, imaging everything that fire could do, everything it would do if they didn’t stop it. “He’s going to wipe out the Earth Kingdom.” 

The group sucked in a collective breath, a few curses slipping people’s mouths. Hakoda didn’t flinch, but Zuko had learned months ago how to notice uncertainty on the Chief. It was in the way his eyes narrowed, the way he worked his jaw. 

“But that means...” Aang started, frowning in horror. “I’ll definitely have to face Ozai before the comet comes.” He turned frantic. “But- But I can’t even firebend yet!” 

“You’re assuming Zuko’s telling the truth.” Sokka hissed, and it caught Zuko so off guard that all he could do was blink in surprise. He’d been ready for them to hate him, to send him packing the moment he delivered the information, but accusing him of lying? He hadn’t prepared for that. 

Which meant his first response was, regrettably, anger. 

“You’re right.” Zuko scoffed coldly, glaring at Sokka. “I just travelled all the way from Caldera to warn you about this, lying to my family and having to avoid both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom soldiers to get here, just because I thought it would be hilarious to make this shit up. You got me.” 

_With a messed-up leg and a five-year-old_ , he left unsaid. 

Sokka didn’t back down, voice a poisonous hiss. “I wouldn’t put it past you.” 

“Sokka,” Katara started slowly, like she hated that she was saying this, “it would be a pretty pointless thing to do. I mean, he gains nothing from lying about it-.” 

“You’re taking his side?!” Sokka squawked, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. 

Zuko tuned out of the siblings’ bickering, distracted by the sudden weight against his good leg. He looked down to see Zi Se leaning against him. The kid could barely keep his eyes open, exhausted. Zuko couldn’t blame him; they’d walked all the way from the White Lotus camp, and this past hour had been eventful to say the least. Zuko allowed a small smile, carding his fingers through Zi Se’s dark hair absentmindedly. 

He didn’t realise it had gone quiet until he looked up and saw everyone staring at him, and his smile fell, defensive. Katara’s eyes were soft as she looked at Zi Se, and Sokka... Sokka wore an expression Zuko couldn’t name, blue eyes flicking from the kid to Zuko, lips parted. 

“What?” Zuko spat, a little too aggressive. 

“This is the guy you were so scared of?” Toph asked the others. “ _Really?_ ” 

"That is pretty cute.” Tulok said, his smile knowing, like he was waiting for Zuko’s flush of frustration. 

Zuko just mumbled an imaginative; “Shut up.” 

“So is that everything? Are you going now?” Sokka asked, feigning a sweet smile, expecting Zuko to leave them be. After all, he’d done what he came here to do. Zuko expected that of himself too. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was the outrage that followed Sokka’s comment. 

“What? No!” Tomkin shouted, quickly linking his arm around Zuko’s, as if Zuko had made an attempt to move. Zuko swallowed down the urge to shove him off, comforted by the way Nanook sent a warning glare over to Tomkin, even if the other boy completely missed it. 

“He’s not going anywhere.” Hakoda snapped, tone just a little too sharp to be berating. Zuko watched, watched this father snap at his son, and he didn’t flinch, and he was embarrassed by how much that made him ache. Hakoda was a good man and a good father, truly. And because of that, Zuko had to leave. 

“I’m not staying.” Zuko said, wiped-out, finally realising just how much this was going to hurt, and Tomkin threw an alarmed, wide-eyed stare his way that made it worse. 

“Why not?” Nanook asked, and he looked _devastated_. 

Zuko pulled himself from Tomkin’s grip. “I'm...” He started, struggling with the words and the attention and the entire fucking situation. “I’m not like you. I'm not... one of the good guys. I can’t _be_ here.” 

“You weren’t one of the good guys the first time round and we still wanted your dumbass around.” Chena said, making Aput smack his arm for his tactlessness, but the sentence stuck with Zuko. If anyone else admitted that they’d wanted him around back on the Ullaakut, he’d have questioned it, those doubts always plaguing him. But it was _Chena_ , and he... the way he spoke, like he knew what Zuko had done, like he didn’t _care..._

“Zuko, we want you here. Safe.” Tulok stressed, like the notion of Zuko leaving hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“Not that I agree with that statement,” Katara said, awkwardly flattening the folds of her clothes, “but you... well, you look... tired, and you said you’d travelled all the way from Caldera City. It's not safe for you or the kid, if you left now.” Her tone was grudgingly caring, almost maternal. She was looking mainly at Zi Se, like she was more worried about the kid than Zuko, which Zuko understood completely. The girl’s reluctance, like she was mortified by the words she was forcing out, somehow made it sound more authentic. It didn’t help that she was _right_. Zuko barely survived the journey here. He was barely staying standing now. But it didn’t make it any less unsettling that she’d noticed, her blue eyes as sharp as her brother’s and father’s. Agni, was the whole family always so asininely stubborn? 

As if reading his mind, Sokka spoke up. “What, you want him to join us now?” 

“No!” Katara huffed impatiently. “But it wouldn’t hurt if we let him rest for a bit.” 

“Yes, it would hurt!” Sokka yelled. “It would very much hurt!” 

“I’m with Sweetness.” Toph said, and Sokka looked outraged. 

“It’s not like you’re going back to the Fire Nation anytime soon, is it Zuko?” Kanut interrupted, and it was like a cold breeze had swept through the temple, the atmosphere turning uncertain, Zuko’s skin prickling as he stared the healer down. He knew that expression, the way Kanut’s eyebrows were tilted, eyes a little narrowed. _Understanding_. Kanut had always been able to unpick Zuko, relating experiences like they were comparing scars and in turn understanding the same pain that came with the blade. Zuko remembered what happened with his father, the lightning, the cool floor beneath his palms. 

“Yeah?” He hissed, angry at Kanut, at his ability to always do this. “Says who?” 

Kanut didn’t miss a beat. “Says the fact I know Fong wasn’t the one who did that to your face.” 

Shit. 

Zuko remembered the cut to his lip, the mark of his father’s touch, the proof of yet another lesson. He'd been worrying at it since it had been inflicted, inadvertently refusing to let it heal. And Kanut knew who had done it. He knew from the start. He could tell, because he knew men like Ozai, and he knew Zuko. 

Zuko didn’t know what to say to that, to the way the other warriors were now eyeing him, so he ducked his head a little, pretending to check over Zi Se. “It's nothing.” He mumbled, but Kanut was right. In that one little cut was every reason Zuko couldn’t return to his father. 

Zi Se stirred, almost nuzzling into Zuko’s knee, and Tomkin gasped in delight. 

“You’ve gotta give us some explanation.” Chena said. “You show up after all the shit that happened, and suddenly you’ve got a whole fucking kid with you?” 

The other warriors turned to glare at Chena, Aput slapping his arm again and making Chena shrug innocently like he didn’t realise what he’d done wrong. Zuko just bit back a smile. He’d missed this. 

“Zi Se was in Fong’s base with me. I was hardly gonna leave him there.” Zuko said simply, keeping a chill to his words that made it clear he wouldn’t elaborate past what was given. 

That information sent a ripple of horror through the warriors, undoubtedly a response to them picturing some innocent kid in that place. Zuko held Zi Se tighter without realising. He didn’t want to think of that here. 

“Fong? Like General Fong?” Katara asked, lip curling in disgust, and Zuko remembered what Sokka had said in the library, about what Fong did to Katara. 

Aput spat in the dirt, like the name was ash in his mouth. They didn’t know what Zuko had done. They couldn’t. Hakoda, Kanut, Sokka, Suki – all of them must have kept it to themselves. It was the only explanation for why everyone was being so accommodating. 

They needed to stop talking about Fong. Zuko couldn’t hear his name here. His head was spinning and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine. 

“The very same.” Sokka said bitterly, and Zuko could feel his glare on him even as he studied the floor. This wasn’t right. Fong wasn’t supposed to exist here. Zuko had killed him and buried him, but he kept being brought back to life in idle conversation and it was too much and it was _too fucking hot out here._

Zuko leaned back against the wall, pressing his fingers into his temples and letting his eyes fall shut. His mouth felt dry, like the air itself was draining him with each inhale. Zi Se had moved now, concerned as he begun to tug on Zuko’s tunic, trying to figure out what was wrong. _I don’t know_ , Zuko wanted to say. _Everything_. A headache pulsed behind his eyes. It felt like that strange drowning sensation from earlier, but worse. Agni, much, much worse. 

Hakoda was saying something, and suddenly, Kanut was in front of Zuko, eyes focussed as he grabbed Zuko’s chin and forced him to look him head-on. Zuko flinched, weakly trying to bat the healer away, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. Zi Se was safe here, at least. He knew that without a doubt. He trusted the warriors more than he trusted himself. 

Zuko didn’t need to be fine anymore. 

Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t. 

He could make out some of Kanut’s words, snapped and blurry. “Where?” 

“Leg.” Zuko forced the word out, before finally giving in and letting himself slide down the wall, bending his good leg to rest his forearm on his knee and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, trying to block out the light. It didn’t work. Everything was too much, too much, too much. Kanut kept fucking _touching_ him, and it was just the tolerable side of intolerable as Zuko listened to distant voices, felt fabric being cut, smelled the acrid smell of flesh gone bad. 

It was too visceral. He was back in that cell again, the heavy fog of rotting injuries stewing around him as prisoners died. They all died. They either died in their interrogations or died because of their interrogations or died because they couldn’t take it anymore or died because Zuko ate the food that could have saved them or died like this. Like this, weeks after escaping. Like this, haunted and broken and rotten. 

“It’s okay, tough guy.” The words broke into Zuko’s mind, private and hushed as the sunlight started to blur. “You’re okay.” 

And then everything went black. 

____ 

Tomkin was pacing. He was pacing because there was nothing else he could do. Zuko was in the make-shift infirmary, and no one knew anything past that except that Kanut had looked ashen when he saw Zuko’s leg wound, because _of course_ Zuko had a leg wound that he hadn’t thought to mention. His plan was to probably suck it up until it killed him. He was lucky he passed out before it came to that, meaning he couldn’t argue with Kanut trying to save his life. 

“Ugh!” Tomkin kicked a rock as hard as he could. “After everything, _everything_ he was put through, and now he’s making it worse for himself? When’s it gonna be enough? Where does it _end?!_ ” 

The others were sat around the campfire, expressions stony, watching Tomkin with grim understanding. Those who knew Zuko, at least. They knew what he was like. Zuko, the boy who starved for a whole day instead of saying anything. Zuko, who escaped multiple times despite a lacerated back. Zuko, who let Tomkin and Nanook keep talking to him back at the campfire in the South Pole, until he reached his breaking point and snapped. 

Because that’s how he worked. Zuko never gave himself a break, which meant he let everything else break him in the process. 

“Sit down, Little Tom. Kanut’s got him now.” Hakoda said, rubbing a hand down his face. Tomkin felt too riled up to sit, but he listened to his Chief, sighing as he took a seat beside Nanook. 

Nanook, currently, was distracted with the child he had been left with. 

“I want to see Zuko.” Zi Se fumed, struggling against Nanook’s grip. 

“Zuko’s busy.” Nanook said, throwing a desperate look to Katara on his other side, begging for help. Lifesaver that she was, Katara didn’t hesitate to place a gentle hand to Zi Se’s shoulder, steadying him. 

“Hey,” she smiled warmly, “he’ll be fine before you know it.” 

“In the meantime, how about a story?” Sokka beamed, but there was something fake to it as he turned pettily to Hakoda. “Dad, I think you have one you could tell us.” 

“I like stories.” Zi Se admitted, relaxing a little in Nanook’s grip, going from panicked to expectant at an impressive speed. 

“See! He likes stories!” Sokka said, winking at Zi Se and making the kid stick his tongue out in response. 

“Well, in that case.” Hakoda chuckled, before turning to the rest of the group, expression becoming solemn. “Some of you are probably wondering how it is the rest of us know Zuko.” 

Katara scoffed, like that was an understatement, and even Suki nodded eagerly. Hakoda heaved in a deep breath, turning to the fire and staring into the flames, and Tomkin found himself leaning forward a little, almost desperate to hear it from Hakoda’s perspective. The Water Tribe were incredible storytellers. They spent countless nights beneath the stars passing on knowledge and tradition this way, weaving words into something sacred and practised. It was known to them, inherent, and a hush fell around the campfire. 

Hakoda flicked his gaze up, catching Zi Se’s, and his lips curled into a small smile. 

“We were passing the Eastern Air Temple when it happened...” 

____ 

Bato was the only one here who had heard this story before. Everyone else was either listening with entranced bemusement or had lived through it first-hand. Which is why Bato picked up, like the other warriors, the exact moment Hakoda decided to leave out the fact that the Fire Prince had killed General Fong. Bato raised an eyebrow at the Chief, but didn’t question him. 

Bato wasn’t one to let himself blend into the background of things. He liked to be front and centre, the focus of attention, but he learnt his lesson the hard way when it came to this. Prince Zuko had become a sensitive topic and it earnt Bato a broken nose – which he was still mad about, by the way. It was better for him to sit back and let his friends hash out what they needed to hash out, and right now, that came in the form of Hakoda explaining the bewildering series of events that led to the Fire Nation royal becoming so entangled with the Water Tribe in the first place. All escape attempts and hunger strikes and bowsprits and the South Pole and Chena’s rum stash and, at the end of it all, Gaoling. 

It was a hard story to tell, because it had no real ending. One moment the boy was with them, the next, he was gone. 

Bato liked to think of himself as adventurous, open-minded. Kanut tended to use different vocabulary – things like ‘dim-witted’ and ‘idiotic’ and, on one particularly heated occasion involving a dashing Northern Water Tribe Ambassador and a fruit tart, the ‘bane of his existence’ - but the general idea was still there; out of the three of them and even out of all the warriors, Bato was the one most likely to be on board with something outlandish. 

Yet even he had been reluctant in the case of the Fire Prince. 

It was to be expected, of course. Who could blame Bato? The boy was a direct emissary of everything they had ever fought against, everything that had ever hurt them, and suddenly Bato was being told that no, his idiot friends decided to _adopt_ the kid instead? It was Bato’s fault for leaving them unsupervised. 

But now, Bato had been observing, letting things unfold before him from the moment the Prince of the Fire Nation showed up at Sokka’s side to the moment they all sat around the campfire listening to Hakoda talk, a five-year-old child currently dozing against Chena’s large chest. Jarringly, observing instead of sticking his foot in it had actually wound up being pretty interesting. Bato might even try it again sometime. 

Because one thing he’d realised was that he actually, against all odds, was starting to like Prince Zuko. 

He was the Blue Spirit, for one, and he had everyone’s seal of approval in some way or another, given at different times to different versions of the boy – which Bato found hilarious - but given all the same. Everyone's seal of approval, except the kids. 

Now, Bato was new to this whole observing thing, but the line between observing and eavesdropping was really very fine, and if he happened to hang back around the campfire even as everyone else filtered away to do chores – anything to keep their hands busy – leaving only Bato and a now trapped in place Chena with the rest of the kids, then that was a coincidence. And if Bato tuned out of what Chena was saying to Little Tom, instead zoning in on what Katara and Sokka were whispering to one another, then that was out of his hands. 

“He’s hurt.” 

“Katara, he tormented us for _weeks_.” 

“I know that, Sokka.” Katara hissed, patience fraying. “But we’re not cruel, that’s for his people.” 

“And I still need a firebending teacher.” Aang chimed in, leaning his chin in his palm. 

“Sokka, after everything your dad said...” Suki started, choosing her words carefully. “It sounds like Zuko’s really changed.” 

Sokka’s face turned dark, angry, as Suki stared him down. “You and I know better than anyone that that isn’t true.” 

“I know that we’ve all done bad things for the people we love.” Suki said sternly, an immovable undercurrent to her words like Sokka was on thin ice, before it lifted as quick as it came, the girl shrugging nonchalantly. It was a little terrifying. “Besides,” she said, “what happened to ‘keep your enemies close’? At least this way we can keep an eye on him.” 

“Agreed. “Toph nodded. “Not that I think Sparky would try anything.” 

Which is the exact moment Hakoda decided to collapse heavily down at Bato’s side, groaning tiredly. Bato was tempted to elbow him. He never did learn to appreciate gossip the same way Bato did. 

“You good?” Bato asked, giving up on trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. 

Hakoda hesitated a moment, before sighing heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I was gonna say I’m just glad he’s okay, but I haven’t heard anything from Kanut yet.” 

“Well, you know how Kanut gets when he’s treating someone.” Bato said, trying to dispel some of Hakoda’s nerves. “All mighty and omnipotent. I think he secretly loves the attention.” 

Hakoda barked out a laugh, shaking his head at the thought of Kanut – bookish, surly _Kanut_ – being an attention seeker. 

“You’ve not rubbed off on him in that regard just yet.” Hakoda chuckled. “Maybe give it another few decades.” 

Bato scrunched his nose with a grin. “What, you think I’m gonna make Kanut a bitchy elder? Challenge accepted.” 

Hakoda rolled his eyes with a laugh, the pair descending into a comfortable silence, but Bato couldn’t miss the way Hakoda was watching his kids. Sokka and Katara had been rightfully frustrated at all this new information hitting them, and Hakoda was caught in the middle of it. He had a habit of offering his heart out to every broken kid he came across. Tomkin started it, and now Prince Zuko, and through it all, Hakoda was being pulled by the love of his actual kids. Bato couldn’t imagine the stress and confusion that was causing. 

“I keep messing up, Bato.” Hakoda uttered, finally giving in to Bato’s silent prodding. “I keep trying to take care of all of them, but it seems every time I help one, the others get hurt.” 

Bato frowned, thinking a moment, before shrugging. “Nah.” 

Hakoda blinked, staring at him. “What?” 

“You’re wrong,” Bato smiled, “this whole situation has been a weird one, I'll give you that. But now, it’s all starting to fall into place. Tomkin and Nanook like this kid just as much as you do, and Katara has Kya’s heart. She's kind. She can’t help it. She's already starting to forgive him.” 

“And Sokka?” Hakoda asked quietly. 

“Sokka’s stubborn, and he’s got a different angle on it, but he’s never been hateful, ‘Koda. He's just angry, and probably confused.” Bato said, before putting on a wise voice. “Give him time.” 

Hakoda scoffed, shoving Bato’s shoulder, but Bato knew he’d listened. 

“What about you?” Hakoda asked suddenly. “What do you think of Zuko?” 

Bato’s grin was cunning as he leaned back on his palms. “I think,” he said, flicking a strand of hair from his eyes, “that things around here are about to get a lot more interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **if you like my silly little writing here, then i actually wrote another fic! it's a very self-indulgent yueki fic and you can[check it out here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29401086) if you're interested <3**
> 
> don't forget to [check my tumblr](https://hella1975.tumblr.com/) to find out when the next update is xx

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